Out of Madness
by Haunted
Summary: When Harry is hurt in a car accident, his parents return to save him from The Gatherers. Can his parents, Sirius, and the Order of the Phoenix save him? Or will he be lost to this new threat?
1. Chapter 1 The Ghost Roads

Chapter 1 The Ghost Roads

For Lily Potter, her return to awareness came like the switch of a light. One instant off, the next on.

I've been dead.

I'm not dead now.

I was in hiding. Hiding my son, Harry, from Lord Voldemort. And then he found us. That gross, snake-like bastard found us and killed us. He killed my husband, James, first. James told me to run. 'Take Harry and go!" he had said. So I took Harry and hid in his bedroom, but Voldemort found us there. It was the worst moment in my life, to realize that I wasn't going to pull it off. I begged him to spare Harry. "Please not Harry. Take me. Kill me instead!" I had begged him. What I hoped for was to stall Voldemort long enough for help to help never arrived. Voldemort took me up on my offer.

My death. When Voldemort raised his wand I knew that he was going to kill me. I don't know if he killed Harry. I know that he planned on it. Harry was the key to his downfall. He would have killed Harry in an instant. Harry was a defenseless baby. He couldn't have done anything to Voldemort yet!

Maybe I didn't try hard enough because I knew that there was no hope. No hope of him sparing us. I've never kidded myself that I was indispensable. As soon as Dumbledore explained everything about the prophecy, I knew. I realized I was just one of many that Voldemort targeted. And once you were targeted, you were as good as dead.

But there is nothing to fight now. I'm alone. I don't know how to escape. How to find Harry. If he had been killed I would have known. I would have felt it. I must find James first. He would be able to help. I have no idea how long I've been gone. Apparently, there is nothing after we die, in spite of all the discussions that James and I had. I need to form a plan. I need to find my family. I need to find James. And after I find James, I need to find Harry. I need to know that he survived. If Harry did survive, how old is he now? If Harry is alive, is Voldemort gone? I need to know.

I feel incredibly stupid. I can't believe what a waste it all is. Right now, I'm willing to believe that hell is better than nothing. That it's better to suffer in agony than be nothing.

Because I've been nothing. Nothing at all, and that sucks. I guess the universe had no more need of me, so I got shoved in a trunk and left in the great cosmic attic with the divine dust bunnies of the hereafter and the cobwebs of time and space, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

But if that was where I was, why am I back?

How am I back?

Who brought me back?

Oh my God.

Pain is shooting through me now. Unimaginable. Unbelievable. It's searing me like a piece of meat. It's skewering me. It's shredding me. It's worse than when I was being killed. Yes, the death curse doesn't hurt, but the thought of leaving Lily and Harry was excruciating.

I can't escape. I can't make it stop. I can't even tell where it's coming from. And if I have nobody, how can I hurt like this?

I must be in hell after all.

I can't stand it. I have to stop it. I have to fight it.

But there is nothing to fight. I'm alone. I don't know how to escape. Must make a plan. Have to find Lily and Harry.

Oh, God, if I could trade this for oblivion, I would. I'd choose to climb back into the trunk. I would. This is past enduring. I can't take this.

Hello? Whoever? Wherever? Make me nothing again. Only, stop this.

No. No, I don't mean it. I would rather take this pain than feel nothing. I'd rather be tortured than cease to exist.

And now I'm being pulled away, or yanked, or shoved; I don't know how I know that, because I have no sense of space or distance, and I don't know where I am. I have no body, no surface, no border. Physically, I'm still nothing except for the sense of touch.

Now I have sight. But there is nothing but formless, vast gray all around me - above, below, on either side. I could be upside down or spinning like a top, and I'd never known it.

There's shadow, of a sort; the dimmest of light against the flat, nickel-dull gray stretching before me. Now there is light as well, but indistinct and very distant.

Wait. Can it be? Yes! Someone or something else is here. Some distance away, I see a shape. It's a circle. An oval. It's a face. A human face, floating without a body? If that face means there's something living present here, then I'm no longer alone.

Or am I creating what I want, need to see? They say if you go long enough without your five senses, you begin to hallucinate. Is that what's happening to me? Is my mind feeding me a mirage?

She's a woman. I see her body now, hovering in the gray. Her hair is red and long and flowing and she's wearing dark robes. She reminds me of Lily. Sweet Lily. My wife, my soul mate.

She's holding a bouquet of roses.

I'm seeing her fade in and out. Like a ghostly image.

Am I a ghost? Does she see me?

She must be able to see something. She's looking straight at me. Her lips are moving. Every so often, she bobs her head. She's speaking, and yet I can't hear a word she's saying.

She must realize that she's wasting her breath. If she breathes.

She's closing her eyes. Her lips are still moving.

And now there's even more pain. Unbelievable pain. Oh, no, stop. It can't be like this. Pain this bad cannot be real. It can't actually exist. No. Stop. IU can't suffer like this another second...

Now I can hear her voice. She's calling for someone. But who? I can't tell what she's saying.

I'm washed over with more pain. More, and more. Oh, God! Stop it!

She's speaking.

She says, "Harry needs you, desperately."

And I think I'm speaking to her. I think I'm saying, "Lily? Is that you?"

Lily says, "Yes. I'm Lily. You are the only one who can stop the Gatherer. The only one. You have to help him, James."

My names is James Potter. I died trying to save Lily and Harry. If Lily is here, where's Harry? Did he survive?

I say again to her, "Lily? Where's Harry?"


	2. Chapter 2 The Accident

Chapter 2. The Accident

Little Whinging, Surrey;

It was hours before dawn. Between the two story buildings covered with aluminum siding, the rain had gotten worse. A strong wind was kicking pages of drenched newspapers and old magazines along the chain-link fence lining the house at Number 4 Privet Drive where Harry was watching from the window in the littlest bedroom. The wind whistled, gusting, and the trash can in front of the house slammed onto it's side, releasing the pungent odor of coffee grounds and overripe fruit that, unfortunately, Harry could smell all the way up to his window because he stupidly had the window open. He couldn't sleep, so he sat at the open window thinking about all that had happened his pervious year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

It happened every year. Some follower of Voldemort wanted to kill him, or take him to Voldemort. Harry didn't know how much more he could take. Sirius had almost died last year trying to save Harry and Harry had almost died trying to avenge him. Harry had woken up three days later in the hospital wing at Hogwarts. Dumbledore and Sirius explained everything to Harry once he was coherent enough to hear it. Dumbledore had said that Harry survived against Voldemort because he has power that Voldemort does not. It was all very surreal to Harry. He didn't think that he had any power that Voldemort didn't, but there was no use arguing. Harry just wanted to forget it all. But he knew that that wasn't possible. No matter where he went or what he did Voldemort would chase him to the ends of the earth trying to kill him. Harry sighed as he shut his window and went back to bed. As sleep claimed him he tried not to think about it anymore.

Harry woke to banging on his door. "Harry!" yelled Aunt Petunia "Get up. We need to leave soon." Harry slowly got up and opened his door. Aunt Petunia looked at him closely. He looked like he hadn't slept all night. "Get dressed Harry. We have to leave soon."

"And why do I have to go?" replied Harry. He was tired and in no mood for his relatives bullshit today.

"We're going to town today and Vernon doesn't want you to be home alone today. Apparently whatever your godfather threatened him with is working. So, you're coming with us today. Besides, the headmaster of that school you go to told me what happened to you at the end of the year, and believe it or not, I just want to make sure that you're ok. I may not have wanted you here, but I do care about you. You're my sisters only child and I do love you. Now please get ready." Aunt Petunia said in a sicking sweet voice that made a shudder go down Harry's spine. Harry slammed the door and sat down on his bed.

"Now I've heard everything." thought Harry. His Aunt actually cared about him. He shook his head as he started getting ready. He really didn't want to go, but he wasn't in the mood to fight this morning. He walked downstairs and into the kitchen where his Aunt had actually set a place for him at the table. She was actually fixing him breakfast. Now Harry was just confused. His Aunt never fixed him anything to eat. "What did Sirius threaten them with?" Harry thought to himself. After breakfast they all climbed into the car and sped away.

The Dursley's were chatting about this and that as Harry just sat with his head against the window. He really didn't want to be here, but his Aunt had been so unusually nice that Harry was just confused. So here he is, in the car going to town because his relatives are scared of his godfather. Dudley sat next to Harry looking like he didn't want to be here either. Dudley hadn't been mean to him since he had gotten back. Harry didn't know what to think about that. It seemed really odd to Harry, but at least he wasn't having to put up with Dudley. This was one of the only bright spots in his summer vacation this year.

"Vernon, be careful. It's awfully foggy all of the sudden." said Aunt Petunia.

"Petunia. I know how to drive in bad weather. Everything will be fine." said Uncle Vernon. Harry watched the road as his uncle began driving faster. This was really dangerous. If his Uncle didn't slow down, they would have a car accident.

"Uncle Vernon. Maybe you ought to listen to Aunt Petunia. The weather looks really bad out there." said Harry nervously. Vernon couldn't believe this. Now he was getting lectured by his nephew! He didn't think that he was driving all that bad. He looked in the rear view mirror at the boys in the back seat. Harry looked a little on edge, but nothing bad. His son, Dudley looked absolutely terrified. Vernon started to slow down a little when he heard his wife scream. "Vernon! Look out!" That was the last thing that Harry heard before the crash.

London, England;

Sirius Black understood now why he had not been allowed to cook any food. What-so-ever. He sucked. Cooking was not his forte. That was what Remus Lupin had always told him. It was far worse punishment to be sent to Azkaban than to eat anything that Sirius Black cooked. It was always experimental. The only people who ate the food he cooked were always considered extremely brave.

The inhabitants of the house had long ago fallen asleep. Sirius was only up because he had had a nightmare of things. He thought that he had out grown nightmares. So here he was, he was now trying to fix something to eat. Maybe he should abandon this and just fix himself a sandwich. Sirius looked up as Ginny Weasley entered the room. "Is it safe?" she asked with a smile on her face. Sirius just smiled. "Yeah, it is. I've abandoned this experiment. What are you doing up at this hour?" he asked.

"I have a bad feeling." she said.

"What about?"

"Harry. Something's just not right."

Sirius looked straight at her with fear in his eyes. "What about Harry?" he asked desperately. Ginny stepped forward, her eyes clearly showing the fear that she felt for her boyfriend. "I don't know. I just know that Harry is in danger. I think that you should go check on him."

"Ginny. Are you sure. I don't want to panic anyone if nothing's wrong."

"I'm positive Sirius. Harry is in danger. I don't know what, but I do know that it's bad. Whatever or whoever it is." Ginny said in a fearful voice and unshed tears in her eyes. Sirius ran out of the room to call Dumbledore. He had no idea how Ginny knew, but she was absolutely terrified for Harry. Sirius called Dumbledore and then returned to the kitchen. Ginny was sitting at the table just staring straight ahead at nothing in particular. She looked so far away. Sirius sat down next to her and gently put an arm around her shoulders. "He'll be ok Ginny. Dumbledore is on his way. We're going to go check on Harry and possibly bring him back here for the rest of the summer. Why don't you go to bed? I'll come get you when we get back here with Harry."

"No. I can't go to bed until I know for sure that Harry is ok. How can he be ok having to stay with the Dursley's? They hate him. He's miserable there."

"That's why we're bringing him back here. If you won't go back to bed, at least let me wake your mother to come down here?" Sirius asked. Ginny nodded here head and Sirius left the room to get Mrs. Weasley. When he and Mrs. Weasley came downstairs Dumbledore was waiting for him.

"Sirius. I've spoken with Miss Weasley and I agree with both of you. We need to go now. Something is not right." said Albus Dumbledore. Sirius nodded in agreement and left with Dumbledore. Mrs. Weasley got Ginny some tea while she thought about what Sirius had told her. Ginny was fearful of Harry being hurt. She truly hoped that Ginny was wrong.

Little Whinging, Surrey;

Vernon Dursley looked around. There was smoke everywhere. He had to find his family. He ran to the car and saw that no one was in the car. "Petunia! Dudley! Where are you?" he screamed. He breathed a sigh of relief when his son, Dudley, ran up to him.

"Dad! Where's mom? Where's Harry?"

"I don't know son. Let's find them." They continued to holler for both Petunia and Harry. They heard Petunia scream from over to the left. "Vernon! Dudley! I'm over here." Vernon and Dudley ran over to where Petunia was. She was sitting on the ground and next to her lay Harry. He was unconscious. "Vernon! We need to call 911! He's not waking. He saved us. We need to help him." Vernon nodded as he called 911. Petunia was right. Harry saved them. They had to help him.

_"I must be dead."_ thought Harry. He was looking down at his own body as the paramedics worked on him, trying to save him. "_I look bad. What happened? Oh yeah, car accident. Something hit us. Are his relatives all right? Where's Ginny? I need to see Ginny. I need to say goodbye."_

"No, no, no." said one of the paramedics. Harry couldn't make out any of the details. There were two paramedics crouched over him trying to save his life. He heard his Uncle talking to the paramedics. "Is Harry still alive? He's my nephew. I need to know that he's alive."

"Barely. We need to get him to the hospital." said the paramedic named Marc. The world turned very bright, as if he were staring directly into the big circular light. He couldn't blink, so he tried to raise his hand to cover his eyes. But nothing came between him and the light.

_"I don't think that I have arms."_ Harry thought, bemused. _"But then I must not have eyes. So why does the light bother me."_ The light grew more intense; it was a shimmering, brilliant white that filled his field of vision. It stretched across his event horizon; he had the sensation that it was solid, and that if he could touch it, it would be very, very pleasant.

The whiteness faded. and grew dull; it flattened into a matte nickel color. There was nothing but grayness, the color and consistency of fog. Again he tried to reach out a hand to touch it, but there was nothing to touch. He groaned in frustration. "Harry?" said Marc, "Can you hear me?" Marc looked at Harry with concern. Harry nodded his head, but stopped quickly because the pain in his head amplified ten times. Harry felt a prick in his looked down and watched as Marc put a needle in his arm. He looked up in confusion. "It's an IV Harry. It will help stabilize the blood loss. The morphine will make you more comfortable. We'll be at the hospital in a minute." said Marc.

He was cold, so very cold. He bowed under the weight, sinking down into the quicksand, or a morass, of nothing. Harry eyes rolled back as he slowly lost consciousness. When they arrived at the hospital they rushed Harry into the operating room. The Dursley's just watched as Harry was rushed into the operating room. Someone needed to tell his godfather. Petunia looked at her husband. He was actually concerned about Harry. "Vernon," said Petunia," I'm going to call his godfather. I'll be back." Vernon just nodded as she left. She had to go home to get a hold of Harry's godfather. She raced home as fast as she could. When she ran in the house she stopped suddenly. There, standing in her living room was Harry's godfather along with the headmaster of his school. "Thank God!" she said.

"Hello Mrs. Dursley." said Albus Dumbledore. "We were wondering where Harry is?"

"You need to come with me." said Petunia. Dumbledore and Sirius looked at her in confusion. "There was a car accident. Harry was hurt. Vernon and Dudley are at the hospital waiting."

"What happened?" yelled Sirius. Petunia jumped back in alarm at his demeanor.

"Something hit us. I don't know what. All I know is that one minute, I was in the car, the next, I was on the road next to Harry. He's really bad. You need to come with me to the hospital." Sirius nodded his head. He and Dumbledore went with Petunia to the hospital.

Okay, Sirius thought, as he rushed into the waiting room of the hospital. This is the part where I wake up.

Only he knew better. Going to a hospital to check on his godson was his least favorite, but most common form of deja-vu.

He had seen Harry in the hospital before, more accurately the hospital wing at Hogwarts. He had already faced the possibility of losing him, more than once, to death.

So why does it feel so horrible and new?

His heart was pounding as he pushed open the door to the waiting room. The plastic chairs were new. There were out of date magazines on the wooden coffee tables between the couches. There was a box up on the wall with moving pictures on it. That was new to him. He had never seen one before. If he remembered correctly, that was a television. A box the muggles watch for entertainment.

"What happened?" Petunia had told him some of it on the trip there, but now he wanted to hear the entire story.

"I didn't see him at first." replied Vernon. 'there was this sudden fog. And then, this figure. A-a tall man. He just appeared in the middle of the street. From out of no where."

Sirius ticked his attention to Petunia, who moved her shoulders in a gesture of helplessness and apology.

"We were arguing about how Vernon was driving in the storm. He was going too fast. We, all of us, were telling Vernon to slow down. He was driving way too fast for the road condition. He just wouldn't listen to us. And then Vernon hit a car." said Petunia.

"It wasn't a car," Vernon insisted. :It was a man. A white man, like a silhouette.."

It was too foggy to see," Petunia conceded. She turned to Sirius. "All this fog rushed in-like a fire-"

Sirius ran his fingers through his hair. Dropping his arms to his sides, he said, "Where is he?"

"In surgery. We've been waiting to hear from the surgeon." Petunia said.

He couldn't speak; he swiveled his head at Petunia, who took a deep breath.

His back's messed up. And there's pressure on his brain, Sirius." she said carefully. "They're... trying to fix it. The pressure, I mean It's like shaken baby syndrome, they said."

"You were driving too fast in this weather!" Sirius shouted, slamming his fist down on the table. The coffee sloshed over the edge of the cup.

Everybody took a beat to register his outburst. He had to control everything inside himself to keep from cursing Vernon into oblivion. His godson was fighting for his life all because he didn't know how to drive in bad weather!

"I was driving, Sirius. Not Petunia.. Good Lord, no, not Petunia." Vernon laid a hand on his shoulder. "I was paying good attention. The man just appeared out of nowhere."

Sirius wheeled around and strode out of the waiting room. Petunia followed him. He stopped in the hall, looked left, right, and saw a middle-aged woman dressed in a pink smock with a name tag seated behind a semicircular console. She held a phone against her shoulder and typed on a computer keyboard.

", you wife's in room 413, maternity," she said cheerily into the phone. "She's still in labor. If you hurry, you might make it. Be sure to drive carefully. There's a nasty storm out there."

Smiling, she hung up.

Sirius leaned into her face and said horsely "Harry Potter?"

P-O-T-T-E-R. Here he is." The woman said, typing.

Her name tag read Grace Beck. "Oh." Her cheery smile faded. "I'm afraid he's still in surgery. It's estimated to be another 2 hours, at least. Are you his family?"

"I'm his godfather."

Grace Beck fanned her hand and gestured for him to stay calm. "Just because it's taking a long time doesn't mean things are going badly." she told him. "Spine and head injuries are both tricky. Sometimes it takes a while for the surgeon to make sure all the factors have been taken into account."

Footsteps clattered up behind Sirius. He and Dumbledore turned, to see a disbelieving Remus, shirt unbuttoned and untucked, dashing toward them.

"Guys." he said.

Sirius said nothing.

"Where is he?" Remus asked. "What's happening?"

He's in surgery." Dumbledore said. "Brain surgery."

"Oh God." Remus paled and put his arms around Sirius. "Can we get him out of there and transferred to St. Mungo's?"

"No." said Dumbledore. "He was already in surgery when we arrived here. We can't take him out of there in the middle of surgery. We'll have to wait until they're done."

, there's not more I can tell you. The surgeon will come to the waiting room," the pink lady informed them gently. She smiled at Sirius. "Mr. Potter's doctor is an excellent physician. In fact, cared for my husband before he passed away."

Passed away? As in died?

Sirius reeled. Remus shook his arms and said "C'mon."

He didn't remember going back to the waiting room. Or Petunia getting him a can of coke from the machine. Or the Weasley's showing up. He kind of came to with lighting into the Dursley's before the man realized that there was nothing that could have been done.

Remus paced up and down, never sitting. It wasn't so long ago that Remus had come into Harry's life. He was Harry's professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts in his third year. He had resigned at the end of that year due to unforeseen circumstances. The unforeseen being Severus Snape telling anyone who would listen that Remus was a werewolf. All because he wanted the Defense Against the Dark Arts teaching position. Severus Snape really was petty.

Sirius walked to the restroom and splashed water on his face. First James and Lily, now Harry. But this is not about me. These are people I love, but no one is deliberately taking Harry like they took James and Lily.

He caught his breath and looked at his reflection. So not a pretty sight. One minute you're there, and the next...

The next you're dead.

He turned off the tap just as the door slammed open and a orderly poked his head in.

He looked at Sirius, "Do you work here?"

Sirius shook his head.

"Damn it." The man looked grim. "We have tons of incoming. Burns from the fires. And now a damn tidal wave."

The man went back into the hall, leaving Sirius to puzzle out his words.

Tidal wave? In Little Whinging?

Then the air filled with the sound of sirens. They rose and fell, screaming and wailing, like falling bombs ar airplanes. Sirius ran into the hall just as Dumbledore and Remus ran out of the waiting room, and the trio headed for the foyer.

The pink lady was half-standing, punching buttons, asking people to hold; with her other hand, she was scribbling something on a notepad.

"What's going on?" Dumbledore asked; and as often happened, the air of authority in his voice got the woman to tell him.

"It's - it's just unreal," Grace Beck told him. "There's been a tidal wave in Little Whinging. Is there even a huge body of water in Little Whinging? Drowning victims. People hit with debris. And the fire's gotten worse."

Dumbledore wheeled around and headed down the corridor to the woman's right, which led to the emergency room. Dumbledore knew that DeathEaters were responsible. They knew that Harry was here. Steps needed to be taken right away to insure his safety.

"Sir, get out of the way." shouted a voice as he rounded the corner.

There was a parade of gurneys headed his way, personnel grouped around them, wheeling along IV's and crash carts. The wheels clattered and squealed as the doctors and nurses raced the wounded and injured along. Every single person's scrubs were covered with blood, and an undercurrent of groaning in the bottom-most layer of sound.

"What happened? What's going on?" Sirius demanded as Dumbledore approached him. But no one answered him. He tried to flatten himself out of the way, realized the futility of that, and ran back to the juncture of hallways. Gurney after gurney flew past him. An old lady was writhing; Petunia covered her mouth as a burned man lay inert. A man cried out, "Kipper! Kipper!" and another man shouted, "My son! Find my son!"

Then a woman of about thirty-five glanced over at Dumbledore; her face bruised and cut. She said, "It was a mummy. In the fog."

Dumbledore looked at Sirius and Remus. "We need to get Harry out of here. Now."

"What's going on Dumbledore?" asked Remus.

"Death Eaters. They're causing all of this. We need to get Harry out of here fast!"

"But, Albus, you said that we can't take Harry out of the hospital until the surgery's over." said Sirius.

"That's right, but we can place wards all over the hospital to keep him safe until we can move him. Let's get started."

Petunia Dursley just watched as the wizards started casting protective wards all over the waiting room and then moved onto to the rest of the hospital. What was going on? Why did Harry need all of this protection? It's time she talked with the headmaster about Harry. She needed to know what kind of danger he was in and why. Harry had saved her and her family. It's time she did the same for him. She may not have gotten along with her sister, but he was an innocent in all of this.

Just then, a steel-haired woman in a white lab coat ran up to the gurney that was being rolled in and said, "Okay nurse. What have we got?"

They moved into medical-speak and Petunia moved off. It was none of her business. She needed to hear about Harry.

Sirius, Remus, and Dumbledore finished the wards and just watched all of the chaos. As they talked, the lobby swarmed with new arrivals, some in wheelchairs, others limping with the assistance of whoever brought them in. Sound bounced off the walls; babies shrieking, tears and shouts; people yelling for help, rudely insisting on it the way some people do when they're frightened to death. The hysteria level was rising to a fever pitch, and a few of the injured were shutting down, staggering in a daze, or slipping off to a corner just to sit.

The air was thick with the mingled scents of sweat, blood, and dirt. The coffee cart beside the entrance wafted mocha java and fresh pastries; Sirius caught heavy perfumes. A man in a cowboy hat pushed past him; he was heavy on the Old Spice.

"My downstairs is completely flooded," an elderly woman was telling . She had on a brassy red ring and way too much nonmatching orange lipstick, and her raincoat was sopping wet. "I have three thousand dollars in inventory, covered with mud." She touched 's cheek appraisingly. "You should call me for a complimentary facial."

Beyond the double glass doors and large windows, cars were stacked like jets waiting to taxi out of London International Airport. Red and blue emergency lights flashed; sirens blatted and blared.

"This isn't looking right," Sirius said. "Even by Death Eater standards, this is way more bad karma than we should be having in Little Whinging."

"And I second that duh." Ron was not being sarcastic, only observant. He said to Sirius, "I'm thinking Hermione. She would be able to help. She always does all of this research. She loves doing that."

"Me, too." Ginny hesitated and looked upward. Somewhere above them on another floor, Harry was in surgery, or not, and Ginny wished that X-Ray vision had come with being a witch. No such luck.

"Harry's in good hands," Molly said, touching Ginny's shoulder. "There's nothing you can do for him here, honey."

"Okay." Ginny looked unhappy. "It's just..." This was bad. If Harry died, I couldn't handle it. And that won't keep it from happening. The universe really doesn't care how much pain any of can stand.


	3. Chapter 3 The Dangers of the Ghost Roads

Chapter 3 Talking With Ghosts

_Pain rose along with his disorientation. He looked down and saw nothing below._

_Not even my own feet. Nothing._

_He heard weeping, and then shadowy blurs began to form around him. They were indistinct flashes of darkness against the dull twilight._

_Then a face appeared, its features contorted and grotesque. He saw a disembodied hand. A stream of gray hair matted with dust and cobwebs._

_Half a skull._

_The perfectly formed arm of an infant._

_Help, Harry whispered. But no sound came out. He heard himself inside his head, but not with his ears. He listened for his heartbeat, but instead heard the flatline of a heart monitor._

_More weeping._

_Then a slow, sad moan trailed across him, touching him in some palpable way. It was almost subaudible, a whispery keening that made him shudder as it caressed him, then seeped inside him, penetrating him with a coldness that permeated his being._

_Whatever my being is._

_Oh, God, I'm already a ghost. I'm a dead ghost person._

_For a moment, panic overwhelmed him. I really am dead! No, I can't be dead. I haven't defeated Voldemort yet. I don't know what's going on!_

_His hand flashed before him, but only briefly. It moved toward his face - if I have a face - but disappeared almost as soon as he realized what it was._

_Come back. Be my hand again. I want to be Harry again. I can't leave yet! I have to be with Ginny!_

_Forever!_

_Shapes darted around him; something icy darted right through him. The gray haze revolved around him, or maybe it remained perfectly still. He was unbelievably dizzy; it was like being seasick. Dimly, he remembered once telling Sirius how he knew he would die facing Voldemort. Not like this. Not in some car accident!_

_A face popped in front of him, it's gaze level and unblinking. It had a mouth, and it inhaled sharply. Then it smiled and said, "Hello, my son."_

_Harry blinked. The face stretched and became transparent; then he blinked again several times and the features became more formal. Harry brightened, relieved to see - at last- his father._

_"Dad, is that you?" he asked brightly. "It's really, really good to see you. In all senses of the word. Seeing, as with actual eyes." he added. "Eyes good, too."_

_The figure of James Potter vibrated in the gray, like a cheesy hologram. It was like a stuttering, and then the vibrating stopped._

_"Hello," James said. "Yes, it is I. I'm both sad and relieved to find you on these roads, Harry."_

_Harry finally understood._

_"I'm on the Ghost Roads," he said._

_James smile was reassuring and kind, and he reached out a hand and nodded. "Don't be afraid."_

_"You mean, don't be afraid because I'm here, or because you're dead, or because I'm dead?" Harry queried._

_"All three, but I meant, because you're dead." James said gently._

_Harry was sick with dread. "I really am? It's not a dream?"_

_Nodding, James clasped his hands in front of himself and sighed. "I'm so sorry son, but you really are."_

_Nervous, Harry began to spill, blurting, "You know, okay issues because I'm a teenager, but I really thought that I was supposed to defeat Voldemort. That was what I've always been told. So what the fuck? How could this happen? I thought that only Voldemort could kill me. Not some muggle car!"_

_"What about all the muggle medicine? Are they doing CPR? Or maybe the thing with the paddles, like on E.R., where yells 'clear' and everybody lifts up their hands and they zap me and I go back-"_

_"Harry, I don't know if they're doing those things. For the moment, my son, you are truly dead." James said._

_"Oh." Harry was still, taking that in. Then over the unchanging landscape, he heard rustles and tears, sighs and whispers._

_"Oblivion," someone said breathily._

_Then James took his hand, and Harry saw that he. too had a hand again. It was almost, but not quite, as white as James'._

_"Your life is draining out of you." James said, as if he'd read Harry's mind._

_"Then I'm not quite dead." Harry replied._

_"I pray - and the dead do pray - that they will bring you back to your living world. I pray that you will be able to return to your Ginny. As does your mother." he reached out a hand, and Harry took it. It was ice cold. "But for now, walk with me, Harry. Your mother and I need your help."_

_They did walk, and as the gray merged into more gray on the vast horizon, Harry lost track of spatial distances - if there were any there, on the Ghost Roads - and how much time had elapsed. He knew there was only a short span of time where shocking a person's heart was any use, because if there was no oxygen to the brain, everything else shut down in rapid order._

_James looked around. "There's a great evil moving through the living world. Do you know what the gatherer is?"_

_There was a momentary flicker of light; someone breathing; Harry heard a heartbeat._

_And then he was positive he heard someone calling his name from very far away._

_"Have you been listening?" James asked, startling him._

_Harry jerked. He was dizzy and unfocused, as if he'd fallen asleep, and he flushed._

_"I drifted off," he confessed. "I'm very sorry. I didn't mean to."_

_"You must have gone back. But it wasn't for very long, or I would have noticed," James told him, as Harry began to get excited._

_"I was resuscitated!" Harry said._

_"But it didn't last." James's voice was kind, but firm. "Please, Harry, I need your attention while I have it."_

_"I'm sorry." Harry said unhappily. "But I don't feel like I belong here. And they're working on me, well-"_

_He half-opened his eyes. The blazing white made him shy away, squinting, until two large blue eyes blocked the beam. Below the eyes stretched a mask of white paper._

_"He's back." said the figure. The blue eyes crinkled above the strip of white._

_There was a chorus of cheers in the operating room._

_Then; "No, damn it! Stay here, Harry! Stay with us!"_

_Harry knew he had let go again, and he began to feel guilty about his inability to either stay alive or stay dead._

_Then after a moment, he returned to the Ghost Roads. This time he knew it, and didn't mind._

_James wasn't there, but a lot of other people were._

_The dead were in a panic, threatening to run right over him. They slammed into him, knocking him over, swarming around him like stampeding cattle. Their mouths were contorted into terrible shrieks. They jostled one another and shattered into fragments, to be ground under the heels of the next panicked phantom._

_"It's here!" a white-faced wraith screamed directly into HArry's face. It was so terrified that it was trying to crawl up Harry's body, scrambling in fright and complete panic. Then it let go of him and ran shrieking around him, arms thrown above its head as if it were on fire._

_Harry cried out as a semitransparent child rushed up to him next, its face a hole filled with screaming. Sobbing, it clung to him, and in its fright, began to pummel his chest. Harry blocked its blows with his wrists, struggling to push it away._

_"Stop it, stop!" he shouted._

_"Papa! Papa!" the child screamed. "Papa!"_

_The child kept batting at him. Harry tried again to push it away, his fist accidentally catching the child in the chest._

_It shattered into shards of brittle bone that clattered against the gray, as if it had hit a solid wall. Harry stared in shock and remorse._

_"Sorry." he murmured._

_The panic level rose, until Harry could no longer distinguish the blur of white around him. Then he realized it was like fog, rolling in, a thick, rolling mist that blanketed everything. And it smelled._

_A fleeing skeleton swiped at him, its bony fingertips just missing his cheek. Harry ducked, crying out, and covered his head in a defensive position._

_Something slammed against his back, knocking him forward onto his knees. As the offender - another phantom - dashed on, Harry looked over his shoulder just in time to see a blanket of fog unrolling toward him._

_He pushed his hands and feet against the road - which was solid - and sprang sideways out of the way. Inside the fog, there was a blur. As the mists shifted and curled, the blur became a figure wrapped in bandages. Though its face was covered, it appeared to look straight at him._

_It came toward him. Then a box appeared in its arms, and it slowly lifted the lid._

_"Dad?" he cried, looking around for his dead father. "Help would be good!"_

_Harry woke up._

_For a second dizziness roiled over him and he thought, I'm at my relatives, watching some dorky horror movie._

_No, I'm at the Weasleys and I've just eaten a candy that the twins invented and I'm hallucinating._

_Light flashed overhead, bright, not, bright, not, and something was rattling and banging and there was screaming everywhere._

_He opened his eyes. He was strapped on a gurney, and people in masks were racing him down a corridor. Lights overhead flickered and strobed._

_"My head," he groaned. It throbbed with pain. "My head."_

_"My God, he's back again!" someone said. "Get him back in surgery!"_

_The gurney he was on bobbed down a hallway. Rattle, rattle, rattle. Harry's eyes began to close._

_"Harry, damn it, stay with us!"_

_"It must have honed in on me," James said, as the two raced hand - in - hand along the Ghost Roads. "Don't go anywhere on these roads without me, all right? It's so easy to get lost on the paths. So many twists and turns. Try to concentrate on me if you have to leave and then come back again like that."_

_"Sorry."_

_The phantoms were in full retreat around them, shrieking and screaming. White and gray raged around them, crackling and rumbling like weighty summer storms. Brighter lights flickered and flashed, explosions on a distant, nonexistent horizon._

_The fog rushed over Harry and James like a net again. Something close behind them was breathing down Harry;s neck; he felt its shadow, and its panting breath stank like rotten things._

_"Dad..." Harry said._

_James nodded. "It's a Wanderer, Harry. It's following us because of me, not you. We have to find a way to tell Dumbledore and Sirius that the Wanderers are coming."_

_Harry said, "The what?"_

_"The Wanderers. They're hunting us, for the Gatherer. It wants them. It needs us, Harry. It craves us."_

_"Like nicotine." Harry asked._

_Then James shrank to the size of a needle. Harry realized that he himself was floating up into the air, leaving his dead father behind._

_James reached up for him. "You have to tell Dumbledore, Harry. Don't forget-"_

_Harry opened his eyes._

A man in scrubs was straddling him, his mouth over his. He felt his breath pour into his mouth. His eyes flew open and he sat up.

He's breathing!" he shouted.

"D-du," Harry tried. "Dumble..."

"Don't talk," said the man. A clear plastic oxygen mask came down over his face. "Don't say a word. Just breathe in, son. C'mon, Harry, stay a while."


	4. Chapter 4 Whispers in the Dark

Chapter 4 Whispers in the Dark

_As they ran off hand in hand, Harry looked around at the gray, and then at James, and said, "No offense, but I was kind of hoping I wouldn't be coming back here."_

_Harry, listen," James said, speaking in a rush as he pulled Harry along. So far, they had outdistanced the mummy guy, but James didn't want to take any chances, and Harry was all for no-chance taking. "I'm going to take you to see Lily."_

_"Mom?" Harry asked anxiously. "That's good, with the breaking free. And we're going to see her...now?"_

_James cocked his head, a fairly impressive feat when one is barreling along in the land of the dead. "A little anxious aren't we?"_

_"Yeah..." Harry was anxious. He was going to see his mother. He couldn't wait._

_James sighed. "Of course you're anxious. You haven't seen her since you were one, and you're 16 now. I can understand your anxiousness."_

_James was gazing someplace Harry could not go. His jaw was clamped, his chin slightly raised, his eyes glittering with anger. His fists balled, making the muscles on the back of his hands prominent._

_"A Wanderer is looking for me." he said simply. He looked at Harry. "We have to save your mother. I know that if it gets me, it will go for her next."_

Amanda Johnson stood by the window of the Carey Quinn Cho Law Offices, where she worked, and gazed down in horror at the mess that was the main street of London.

Floodwaters had overwhelmed the storm drains, and the rushing river had spilled over the curbs, sloshing beneath the doorways of all the street level stores. Trash cans sailed along, and now and then a scattered flotilla of floating garbage, cardboard boxes, even a bicycle. She'd heard that the first two rows of the Sun Cinema were underwater, and it was fairly easy to believe that that was more than just a rumor.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she stood with a fresh bundle of flyers from London Copy Center under her arm. They were fluorescent green, and hard to miss. Bit an eight-year-old girl was hard to miss, and nobody had seen her daughter, Holly in three days.

When Ben came up behind her and put his arms on her shoulders, Amanda shut her eyes tight to keep herself from losing it. "I'm sure she's safe," he said soothingly. "I'm sure of it Mandy."

"How can you be sure? You're not even a parent!" she yelled at him, trying to move away. But he wouldn't let her go; he held her more tightly, as if he were waiting, and she did not disappoint. She burst into heavy, wrenching sobs, lowering her head in abject misery to stare at the flood, seeing not boxes but her daughter lying helpless somewhere, whimpering and cold, and crying for her mother.

"She ran away because of you," she added bitterly, and she was immediately ashamed."Oh, Ben. God, I'm dying. I'm just dying."

"We will find her," he promised. "And you and I will get married, and she'll be the happiest girl in the world." He paused. "Even if I have to bribe her to be the flower girl with Barbies and Supernatural DVDs."

She couldn't smile, couldn't register the fact that he had just proposed. Somewhere out there, her baby was in trouble. She could feel it deep inside the marrow of her bones; in every cell. She pressed her abdomen, remembering the first flutter of life that had been Holly The pain of her birth, and the joy of seeing that screaming, red face up close for the very first time.

I will die if she dies, she knew; and the thought was oddly comforting. I won't have to go on without her.

"She's my life," Amanda whispered. "Ben, she is my entire life."

There was silence behind her. She wished she could care that she had just wounded him.

But she couldn't care. She could do nothing but will Holly to be alive.

Holly was slogging through the rushing water as she could. There was so much of it, and it was so deep, and just now, a dead rat had floated past her waist, but she kept the scream inside herself, because fog was gathering behind her.

Thickening and swirling and eddying, like dry ice in the haunted house at the school carnival last year; she had always been fascinated by dry ice. Before he had left them, her father had explained how it was made, and how it kept things very, very cold. Holly had decided then and there to become a scientist. And a ballerina.

She didn't know where she was; there were two-story brick buildings on either side of the river, which had once been the street. Some of the windows in the buildings were broken or completely missing; the roofs were rusty and some of the rain gutters had pulled away. They canted over at strange angles, giving the structures a weak, unhappy look, like they were old men bent over, fumbling for their glasses.

Grandpa, she thought, but she didn't cry. She had to pay attention, keep ahead of the fog, because something bad was in it. She could feel it following her, coming after her. Her feet kept slipping from the bottom of the river - which was the center of the street - and she bobbed around the stalled cars, all deserted, and covered her mouth when her foot kicked something that gave way, and felt gooey.

The fog swirled on either side of her, like the arms of their rocking chair at home; she still liked to cuddle up and listen to stories at night. She thought about The Runaway Bunny, and how the mommy bunny always found the runaway bunny by changing into things like sailboats and kites. The book had kind of creeped her out, cua the mommy seemed scary, but now she wished that her own mother was in the fog behind her, and not anything else.

She also hoped Gigi was right about Jesus listening to everything everybody said, because right now she was saying, "Jesus, tell my mom where I am. Tell her to come get me."

The fog slid down to right in front of her face, like something curling in slow motion, and she darted to the left with a little cry. The fog clung to her, moving around her.

Something touched her. She screamed and turned around.

The mummy was directly behind her. What had touched her was its box.

Its box that had the faces of screaming girls, and skulls, and it was made of bones and skin and it was opening ; the mummy was opening it-.

The fog swirled around them both, Holly and the mummy, faster, faster, like they were inside a washing machine. Faster and thicker, becoming a cone; and Holly realized the fog was coming out of the box. It whooshed and blew and rushed; it was wind, with fog in it. It circled around her, moving more rapidly, until she was staggering through the water with it, spinning around around, and screaming.

Then the mummy reached in its box and she knew it was going to pull out an axe, just like the other one had. Or maybe this was the same one. She didn't know.

But the mummy stopped, frozen, with its hand in the box. The winds dervished around both it and Holly. It stared straight ahead, like a robot that had been turned off, and Holly took-off. She fought the wind and the water and she started screaming, and screaming, and screaming, and she didn't stop screaming until someone grabbed her and dragged her out of the river.

And dragged her into a doorway and held her tight; and said, "Come with me."

Holly had no idea who spoke;she was so frightened that she couldn't even see a thing. She could barely feel the hand wrapped tightly around her forearm. The person was pulling her along too fast, so fast she was half-dragged through the water, but Holly didn't care. It wasn't the mummy, so it was someone better; and that was as far as she could think.

They sloshed this way and that way and then they went up some stairs, and then there was a door opening and the person in front of her yelled, "Mad-Eye!"

Next thing she knew, Holly was in somebody's house. And a scarred old man with a glass eye was sitting on the couch. He looked directly at her, and she looked at him, and she said, strangely calm, "There was a mummy, but he didn't have his axe, I think. The first one did. The first one...the first one came at me...and I...and I..."

They stared at her, and then each other.

The person who had saved her knelt in front of her. She was a very pretty girl with bubble-gum pink hair, and Holly felt a moment of confusion, as if she had net her before and she should know her name and everything.

"I'm Tonks. You're safe. What's your name?" the girl asked kindly.

"Holly." Holly confided. Then she collapsed into the girls arms. "I want my mommy!" she shrieked. "I want my mommy now!"


	5. Chapter 5 The Answer Lies Within

Disclaimer: I do not own any of JK Rowlings awesome stories or characters. Though I wish I had come up with it.

Chapter 5 The Answer Lies Within

Headquaters of the Order of the Phoenix, London

It was late afternoon in London. The headquaters of the Order of the Phoenix were as busy as they had ever been. They needed to find out who or what was trying to get to Harry. He had been attacked while riding in the car with his relatives and with great personal risk to himself, saved them. Now Harry is in a muggle hospital with life threatening injuries. They didn't know if Harry was even going to survive this, whatever it is. The only good thing to come out of this was his relatives now realize who Harry is and they're doing all they can to help him. Nothing can be done though until Harry gets out of surgery.

Select members of the Order of the Phoenix, a handful of whom have all seen some of what Harry can do, gathered to discover who had done this and why. It was widely known that Cornelius Fudge had refused to admit that Voldemort had returned, but if he could be any help whatsoever, then maybe they should involve him as well. The only way to find out is to wait until Kingsley Shacklebolt returns with news. There were some vacant seats at the table. Two, of course, belonged to Dumbledore and Sirius Black. They were at the hospital with Harry awaiting news, as well as the Weasleys, Remus, and McGonagall.

"I'm worried that there will be another attack on Harry Potter." said Dedalus, Dingle. The people seated at the table all nodded in agreement. Something had to be done. "As you know, he's a high priority target. If The Dark Lord were to get to him at the muggle hospital, there would be no stopping him." Hestia Jones replied. "I have it in mind to apperate over there and find a way to get him out of there."

"But, it's a rather difficult situation, is it not?" said Sturgis Podmore. "Didn't Dumbledore say that we have to wait until Potter is out of surgery? That it would be too dangerous to move him before the surgery is over."

"Yes, he did say that." said Hestia Jones. "Has anyone heard from Dumbledore or Sirius yet? Do we know if the surgery is over?"

"No." said Madam Bones. "We have not heard as of yet, but the surgery could be over. Someone needs to go to London and talk with Dumbledore. Harry needs to be moved as soon as possible."

"I will go." said a voice from the doorway. They all looked around and saw Severus Snape standing there. "I will return as soon as possible and hopefully I will have the others with me."

"You should leave as soon as possible." said Madam Bones. "Unless there are any serious objections?"

No one spoke. It would have been quite disrespectful of anyone to voice any, once such a highly placed member had spoken.

London

"Okay" Tonks said to the group as they settled in their spots in the Dursley living room. The young Auror was in the kitchen, making another pot of tea. The muggle way. She was getting frustrated. Why was she doing this without magic? The others in the living room were going over research. "We have fires. We heave floods. We have wind. Is there anything we're missing?"

"We don't have Earth." Mad-Eye Moody said thoughtfully. "At least, I don't think we do."

"Lacking in Earth, to my thinking." Remus concurred. "Since the water is covering it up a bit more than ususal."

"And mummies," Holly Johnson whispered.

Wearing one of Harry's sweatshirts as a long dress, the little girl was anxiously pacing, waiting for her mother, who was on her way. Tonks had driven Remus to the Dursley house. That had been an experience. Her first time driving a muggle car. Remus had pit his seat belt on as well as placing charms all over the car. Tonks laughed when she thought about how Remus looked sitting in the car with a terrified look on his face. Dumbledore was busy with the books, and Sirius had elected to stay at the hospital and promised to call as soon as he had some news.

Meanwhile, Tonks was so very glad she'd gone outside to see what the hell was going on with the wind. She had seen no mummy thing, but she had seen a lot of fog and a terrified child racing in the opposite direction. She could have sworn she had seen Death Eaters. Maybe she was wrong. But, if she was, what was stalking Harry?

"Holly? Would you like some more tea?" asked Tonks. She was trembling. Tonks could practically see the fear coming off her in waves. Gently she took Holly's hand and led her to the sofa, made a face at Remus to get him to move, and eased the little girl into a sitting position. Holly almost bolted back off the couch, as if she were afraid to stay in one place, but Tonks knelt before her and gave her a smile.

"I need to ask you some more questions," she said. "While we wait for your mom, okay?"

Holly's thin shoulders slumped and she nodded as if she really didn't care anymore. Tonks knew that look. She had seen on more faces than she cared to admit; it was defeat. It was the look that came over someone's face when they'd had enough. She had seen that look on Harry's face at the Department of Mysteries when he had thought that Sirius was dead.

"Never mind." Tonks picked up Holly's tea cup and handed it to her. "We'll just wait for your mother to come."

She heard rapid footfalls and said, "That's probably her now."

But the door crashed open and Bill Weasley dove over the transom, shouting, "Tonks! Front and center!"

"Why?" Tonks yelled, but didn't hesitate to run to Bill's side.

They dashed outside, Bill sailing into a bank of unbelievably thick fog. He said, "There's something in here, and it tried to kill my ass! It followed me all the way over here."

"It's probably a mummy," said Tonks. "Maybe it caught my scent when I saved Holly."

"Whatever. I just want to kill it."

Tonks started casting spells, on the off chance that she might make contact. "I got it, I got it," Tonks said, "but it's not going anywhere."

"Okay," Bill said. "Me, too. I can feel it."

They both went into casting mode. Tonks said, "Can you see anything? Is it a mummy?"

"Doesn't feel like one. It feels like a Sherman tank," Bill said.

"What is it?" Mad-Eye called from the doorway. Tonks glanced at him, took in the fact that Remus had just joined him.

"Don't let the fog inside," Tonks advised.

"Where is it?" she cried to Bill.

"I don't know. I think it's gone."

"Let's get inside." Tonks said.

They both hightailed it back into the house, narrowly missing Mad-Eye and Remus as they backed into the Dursley home. Bill, at Tonks heels, slammed the door and flicked the locks. Then he took a couple of giant steps away from the door.

They waited for a few moments. Nothing happened.

"Huh." Bill grunted.

When the doorbell rang , Tonks nearly put her fist through the door.

"Holly?" a woman called.

"Mommy!"

The little girl raced to the door. Tonks stood in front of her and said, "Hold on a sec." She nodded to Bill, who unlocked the door, got ready to start cursing the person behind the door, just in case, and opened it.

A woman who resembled the little girl ran into the room. She was followed by a man whose smile lit up the house. Distracted, Tonks nevertheless scoped out the front yard. There was nothing there, not even a whisp of fog. She traded glances with Bill, who had joined her.

"Holly, Holly," the woman cried, falling to her knees and enfolding the child. They clung to each other, sobbing, while the man stood by.

Then the little girl looked up at the man and blurted, "Please don't make my mommy a drink."

"What?" the man said, then wiped his eyes and came to the other and daughter and tentatively gave the little girl a quick hug.

The reunion continued. Bill rolled his eyes at Tonks and ambled into the kitchen, where the tea kettle was screaming. Petunia joined them, rescuing the screaming kettle, while Bill smoothed back his dripping hair and said, "Well, that's a happy ending, eh, Tonks?"

"What was in the fog?" Tonks asked him. "Did you see anything?"

"No clue. But it was following me, or something." He grimaced at his wet leather clothes. "It's a bitch when this stuff dries on you. Mom is going to love it. She really doesn't like me wearing this stuff anyway."

Petunia was doing all the tea things she did, fussing with the bags, sugar, and milk. Everything went on a tray, always did, even if it was just her and Vernon and a couple of mugs. At the moment, Vernon found comfort in the ritual, and put his hand on the jamb as he watched her go. It was all they could do at the moment. He and his family had elected to come home while they waited to hear about Harry. There was nothing they could do at the hospital anyway. Vernon had offered his home to the group of wizards as well. They needed to research whatever it was that was stalking Harry and they couldn't do that at the hospital. Vernon couldn't believe that Harry had saved them. After all they had put him through over the years Harry still saved them. He had decided from that moment that things would be different with Harry. He would treat Harry like he deserved to be treated. Like the way they treated Dudley. Like part of the family.

The phone rang. Vernon touched Petunia's shoulder and said, "I'll be right back, Petunia. That may be news about Harry."

"Yes," she said blankly. Then processing, more urgently, "Yes."

Vernon picked up the phone. Petunia watched him, aware how hard her heart was racing. Lily. My sister. I am so sorry that I didn't protect him the way I should have. It won't happen again. He will be my first priority.

"Hello?" Vernon said. "Yes?"

Bill popped a sugar cube in his mouth and crunched.

"Hang on," said Vernon. He handed the phone to Mad-Eye. "It's for you."

Mad-Eye confusedly took the phone. "Hello?" Everyone watched as Moody listened to whoever was talking on the other end. Mad-Eye paled. He reached for something to hold onto as he breathed, "Oh my God. How? When did it happen?"

Tonk's stomach lurched. "Mad-Eye?" she called. "What is it?"

He had the presence of mind to shake his head, then hold out a hand as if to fend off any more questions. Slowly, he sat, as Holly, her mother, and her father left the house in a happy chorus of farewells.

"Wait, it might not be safe," Bill said, but no one was listening. He started to head for the door as Mad-Eye hung up the phone.

"Tonks," he said, looking at her through the breakfast bar cutout in the wall. "That was a contact of mine at Hogsmeade. Your parents..."

"Her parents," Bill asked as he walked into the room.

Mad-Eye turned his back on both Tonks and Bill. Tensions spanned across his shoulders and his spine was ramrod straight. Or, at least as straight as he could get it

at the moment. He looked off to the side , the way he sometimes did when he simply didn't know how to break news to the victims family.

"They've been killed."

"What?" Tonks was shocked. "No. That's not...I just spoke to them yesterday. This has to be some sort of mistake."

Mad-Eye shook his head. "I'm sorry Nymphadora. There's no mistake."

Bill came into the room. "How?"

"Brutally murdered. Their belongings have been ransacked, as if the murders were looking for something."

"Money?" Bill asked.

"Doubtful. It looked like they were looking for the whereabouts of Tonks. It couldn't have been Death Eaters. They know that Tonks is here. One assumes that whoever was looking doesn't know that Tonks in an Auror. I'm thinking that they think that Harry is staying there."

"Why would they think that? Harry has never even been there. He hasn't even met my parents. Not that they didn't want to. They wanted to meet Harry."

"Did they know what has happened to him?" Bill asked.

"Yes. They did."

"We can only assume that it's whoever is after Harry. If it's not Death Eaters and it's not Voldemort, then we need to discover who it is before they have a chance to get to him again. " said Bill.

"Give me a moment, please." Tonks said. "Alone." Slowly sitting on the chair opposite the sofa, she hung her head in her hands.

Bill, Mad-Eye and the rest of the Order members there tiptoed into the kitchen, joining Petunia near the refrigerator. Vernon looked at the others and snapped, "It's always death with you people."

"Yeah," Bill breathed, watching Tonks. Hurting for her. And somehow, missing Fluer more than ever. It was as if now that Tonks' parents had been killed, Harry was in even more danger. Bill didn't know how to explain it, but he felt it.

It's always death with us people. So much death.

San Diego, California

In her lovely rented mansion in the rich San Diego neighborhood of Point Loma, Cecile Lafitte threw the bones, read them, and gathered them up again with her blood red nails. The signs were not all there, but the majority of factors pointed to a good resolution. Translation: Despite the fact that things were not perfect in London, she should continue to mover her pawns. The chosen one lay within the grasp of the Gatherer, and it wanted him. Desperately.

Rich rewards would come to the one who delivered him up to the insatiable god.

She threw the bones again, came up with the exact same answer, and dropped them into a skull on the black varnished table. The planks of the table had been cut from the coffin of Tutuana Lafitte, her wily descendant. Clever woman that she was, she had nearly succeeded in achieving immortality. In her attempt, she had reconnected Cecile with her bloodline, and of that, she was very grateful.

Cecile picked up her phone and punched in the familiar North Carolina number. SHe tapped her nails and waited expectantly; Cameron usually picked up on the first ring. He did not disappoint.

Her smile was in her voice as she said, "It is time, mon amour. It is the correct moment to transport our master."

"Everything is ready?" he asked eagerly. After all this time, Cameron had not lost his Southern accent.

"Almost everything," she replied. "There are still a few loose ends, but I have confidence that they will be resolved in time." She tapped one of her lovely manicured nails against the velvet pages of Le Livre des Quatres. The Book of Fours. She reminded herself that without Cameron, her plans would have been much more difficult to accomplish. When she assumed her rightful place in the new world, she would remember his past service to her.

She took a moment to reminisce. With victory so close, it was time to reflect on all that had been accomplished.

After she had fled, as "Ceceli," from ibn Rashad, she had languished in a small desert village, cowering from his wrath, until she realized that she was not aging. Nor was he hunting her. Either he had lost track of her, or lost interest in her. Either way, she was not about to waste her valuable time pondering this fortuitous event.

So she continued her studies of the Pool, gleaning all she could of its origin and creation; and to her delight, she made friends with a local wizard, who taught her about scrying stones. They were like tiny windows through which one could see vast distances, even across time. She learned, also, that ibn Rashad was said to dwell in the city of Jerusalem, and that he was worshipped there as a god.

It took her years, but at last a confederate agreed to infiltrate ibn Rashad's fortress, deposit a stone, and then, hopefully, escape. In return, Ceceli showered him with pleasures of every sort, including her own, promising him much, much more upon his return.

But he never did return.

However, he managed to do as he promised before the desert took him: the stone was in place, in ibn Rashad's privy chamber, where the wizard communed with his god. The One Who Gathers and Preserves, which he now called the Gatherer, lived in an elaborate pit, and ibn Rashad merged in some way with it by thrusting his hands into its hideous, rank form. That this was both excruciating and sublime was clear from the expressions on his face and the sounds he uttered; but even better, he maintained a private diary of his experiences with the Gatherer. With her scrying stone, Ceceli read every word he wrote-and made herself a copy of his book. It was she, not he, who eventually called it The Book of Fours.

But I get ahead of myself, she thought, running her fingers along the text which she had written, years before.

Fifty years after she had taken ibn Rashad to the pool, rumors circulated regarding ibn Rashad's depravity. The Kings of Europe were determined to take Jerusalem, "saving" it for the wizarding world. With Wizard armies on the march, she knew she must go soon to ibn Rashad, and challenge him for control of the Gatherer.

But fate had intervened, and she had been forced to wait.

Which turned out to be a very good thing, she thought. It saved me so much traveling.

With a smile on her face, she picked up the phone again.

"Kit?" she asked, when the connection was made. "It's I, Cecile. Would you be interested in a session tonight? I can feel the vibrations. I'm certain we shall reach your friend on the other side this time. What did you say her name was? Lily?"

London

"Okay Willy, thanks for the update," Tervokian said into the receiver. He scratched one of his horns, a nervous habit, and popped the brown scale on his mouth. Serrated teeth ground the keratin to bits. That was a nervous habit, too, and he'd tried everything to break himself of it. "You'll be getting your usual retainer in the mail."

He hung up without saying goodbye to Willy the Snitch, the barkeep of The Hogs Head, where all the demons and dark wizards in Hogsmeade went to drink. Willy didn't care about manners. He cared about cash. And for a few galleons, he had told Tervokian some lousy news.

Though he'd kept it light and easy during the conversation, Tervokian was angry enough to rip the phone from the wall of his dark, comforting lair, but he was also cheap enough to know how much it would cost to replace it. He wasn't magical, so he couldn't just wave a wand and it be fixed. He would have to pay for it. The wall, that was. Phones he got for free, on account of he and his boys stole them.

Hey, fun was where you found it.

Fun was not pissing off the big cheese like Cecile LaFitte, no way, no how. But according to Willy, his vampire bounty hunters had failed, and failed big. That was the problem in using vampires. None of them wanted to deal with the chosen one. The only bright spot was that they had managed to kill the Auror Tonks' parents. That was one thing off the list.

But Tonks was still alive and very much kicking, and his boys had lost Harry Potter. Now he was no where to be found. Ceclie would not be happy. He was supposed to deliver him to Cecile.

Marone, as they said in the North End

He held his breath and counted to a big number while his capo, the vampire Kenny the Fang, stood beside him, idly going through a box of old handguns, flicking them open, spinning barrels, checking triggers.

Tervokian plopped down in his recliner and buried his head in his hands. "So, Kenny, Miss Tonks Big-Shot Auror not only defeated me employees, but she hid the frigging chosen one from us."

"That is bad, boss," Kenny told him, admiring several weapons, as if trying to decide which one was best. He pointed at an imaginary target across the room and made a ka-pow sound beneath his breath. "It makes us look like idiots. Screw-ups. It's humiliating."

"Beyond humiliating," Tervokian agreed.

Kenny said, "So, lemme guess. The Auror took the chosen one to the Order. Those wizards that are hell bent on protecting him. And Cecile knows we've lost the chance to get to him."

There's always a little ray of sunshine, Tervokian thought. That's what Mamma always used to say.

"Willy don't think so, Kenny. On account of Voldemort's followers are still waiting for him. They're hanging around his place, getting nervous. I asked Willy to check it out for us."

"So they don't know our assassins were in town?"

"Doesn't look like it." Tervokian said. How many times do I have to remind myself not to let it get personal? Man, am I in trouble.

"They don't know we were there, and Madam Cecile still thinks we're delivering Harry Potter to San Diego even as we speak."

"So sending them to London first to get rid of Tonks...not our best idea?"

Tervokian was angry. He did not like his underlings auestioning his judgement. Which, in this case, was fair. Everybody in the universe had wanted the chosen one-the Death Eaters in the Wizarding world, and Cecile LaFitte down in San Diego. They were going to pay handsomely for it-if Voldemort rose to power, Tervokian was gonna sit at his right hand. If Cecile got it first, she was gonna make Tervokian the next Servant. He couldn't lose. So what did he do?

Decide to use it on Tonks first, make sure she got taken out no matter who ended up with the chosen one.

He was a freakin' idiot. No wonder he's never gotten South London like he wanted.

"We gotta find Harry Potter before someone else finds out we lost him, boss. Asap." Kenny informed him. "If they hear we don't have him, they'll probably kill us both."

Tervokian flared. "As long as we're the only ones who know, it's a secret, right?"

"Right." Kenny said smugly.

Wrong, Tervokian thought to himself.

The demon picked up a gun and pretended to admire it while he pressed open the hidey-hole built into the surface of his desk. He popped it open as he kept his eyes on the gun, gauging what kind of ammo it took.

"How long they got to try to bring Potter to the Dark Lord?" Kenny asked. "Is there, like, an expiration date on their offer?"

"We're supposed to give Potter to them by the Night of the Stars, which is in two or three days." Tervokian kept his face a mask. He didn't mention that Cecile had a similar time window.

Seemed the beautiful broad was in league with an entity called the Gatherer. This Gatherer required a Servant, who acted as its figurehead and got to use its massive power as long as the Servant agreed to be loyal to the Gatherer and let it live vicariously through him. That was okay with Tervokian; he didn't mind subletting his experiences if the price was right. The current Servant was Cameron Duvalier, and the Gatherer was no longer pleased with their relationship, on account of Cameron having gone completely nuts.

So...there was a job opening. Cecile did not want said opening for herself because she was already the Gatherer's consort. Tervokian grinned at the word. What she was , was the Gatherer's babe. And the way the Gatherer got to "experience" its babe was through the Servant "experience" its babe.

Guess ol' Cam ain't measuring up, he thought smugly. Guess I do.

Anyway, his audition was to give Cecile the chosen one, Harry Potter. The only problem was the Order had gotten to him first.

He'd gotten a weapon from a fence who was very vague about where he'd gotten it, but that somebody had promised him that it was a Auror-killer, guaranteed. The first time, Tonks had gotten away before he'd had a chance to use it on her-the box it came in had started on fire or something, and the entire warehouse they'd imprisoned Tonks in had burned down.

So...still not tested in combat, but hey, taking Tonks out was only part of his current scheme.

This time Tervokian had played a couple of additional angles, figuring to deliver Potter to Voldemort's followers before he gave him permanently to Cecile. A sort of a little side deal. All they wanted to do was torture Harry Potter, using his blood to make Voldemort even stronger. All though, he didn't undertand that one. They had already used Potter's blood to restore him to his body. What more of Potters blood would do, hr didn't know.

Then they'd give him back and he'd give him to Cecile, a little used, but hey, she hadn't made any stipulations and he'd made no exclusive-use promises. So he'd end up buddies with the risen Voldemort-if their ritual worked-and with all that power the Gatherer was gonna let him have, he'd get to hack Tonks to death, too, if his bounty hunters failed, which they had. Plus, he'd have a woman so gorgeous she'd make you scale faster than a shedding fungus demon.

So why did I have to try to take out Tonks? he asked himself. Why couldn't I just be patient?

And, say, speaking of local double-dealing demons with questionable loyalties...

"Hey, Kenny," Tervokian said.

Kenny looked up from the gun he was playing with. "Yeah, boss?"

Tervokian staked him. Kenny looked stunned, and then he died.

"Putz," Tervokian said. "Only way to keep a secret is to never share it with anybody, not even your own mother." Now, nobody else knew he had lost Potter.

He picked up a phone and punched in a number.

"Cecile," Tervokian said smoothly. "Hi. It's me."

"How are things in Hogsmeade, cherie?" she asked sweetly. "How is our guest?"

Can I fake her out until I find him? "So far, so good. He still unconscious."

"Listen, my darling," she continued. "I have cast the runes and it is time. You must bring him to me."

"Okay. Man, I can't wait to see Tonks or any other member of the Order get it." he said with false joviality.

"Potter will not kill anyone." she said again.

"Impossible. He's got power. I've seen it myself," Tervokian said, sweating. "With that kind of power, Tonks will be dead. Along with anyone else you want eliminated."

"Not to worry. He will kill Voldemort."

"Oh," he said confused.

"There are four wands," she explained. "One for each of the four elements. He can control all of them. I've seen it."

"Uh-huh." He was a little nervous that she was telling him all of this. In the movies, when one of your fellow villians told you the details of their schemes, you usually ended up dead.

But Voldemort is a good kill, so bring him to me now, please. And by the way..." she lowered her voice. "Cameron is on his way as well. He thinks his status is unchanged." Her voice grew dark and husky. "But the Gatherer wants a new Servant, mon amour. Someone clever. Like you.

"Hey, I'm one the plane." He laughed nervously. "Well, not really, but I will be as soon as I make my reservation."

"That makes me so happy," she told him. "I cannot wait. Our plans cannot fail, once we are working side by side."

Tervokian hung up.

_Oh, man, am I screwed,_ he thought.

He glared over at Kenny, who might be the lucky one after all, him having a nice, easy death and all.

"So, Tervokian threatened Tonks in Hogsmeade," Mad-Eye said. "But not with a wand such as either of you described from your research."

Tonks, remaining with the others at Casa de Dursley, was wearing Petunia's bathrobe, which Bill found rather weird. But he didn't say anything, because he, himself was wearing Harry's sweats. His clothes were in the dryer, since the Dursley's insist on not using any magic, while Tonks leather was carefully blocked down with phone books and some dishes. Meanwhile, Remus was upstairs taking a shower, and Charlie was taking a nap on Harry's bed. It was getting dark, and still no definitive word on Harry. Only that Sirius was with him, and he was in the ICU, and Ron and Hermione refused to leave.

"He got me in this warehouse," Tonks reminisced. "And then, there was this demon, and...wait." She nodded, replaying memories in her head. "They had me cornered. It was really dark, but it was a block or something." She looked at Bill. "Could have been a box. A very gross box."

Bill nodded. "That's what I heard. Not the kind you put a Christmas sweater in. More of a Death Eater special."

"Bones and skin," Tonks filled in. "Very disturbing, in a sort of arty way."

Bill wrinkled his nose. "Let's leave it at disturbing. Very disturbing. The first mummy that was threatening the little girl had one, according to her. The one that walked out of the water. The second one had a box."

"Could it have contained a wand such as the one you read about?" Mad-Eye asked. "Because I'm thinking about Roger, and he said something about wands once. Though in what context I can't recall." He sat back and sipped his tea. "His diary should arrive tomorrow morning. That may shed some light on things."

Bill swallowed and said, "What about Ted and Andromeda? Did they have an elemental wand encounter of the closet kind?"

The extreme look on Mad-Eyes face was answer enough/ For a moment, Bill thought he had had a heart attack. "I do know that they were burned in some way," he said finally.

"Oh. Yay." Charlie said from the door to Harry's room.

"I thought you were asleep," Mad-Eye called up to him.

"Heart pounding too hard to sleep," he said. "Somehow, I find it difficult to drift off when we still haven't really heard anything about Harry. He doesn't deserve any of this."

"He'll be okay, Charlie," Bill replied.

"I'll just feel better when he is out of that hospital. I still think he should be at St. Mungo's, or at least Hogwarts. He's be fine right now."

Tonks smiled grimly at Charlie as she slung one leg over the arm of the sofa. Then she leaned forward on her knee, back to business, and said, "So, you calling the hospital? Find out how he is?"

Remus nodded. "I was just about to," he confessed looking up through his lashes at Tonks. "Thought it might be difficult for-"

"Me. You're right." Petunia got to her feet and tried to put her hands in the pockets of her jeans, but the pockets were too low. So, she fastened her hands on her hips; as she heard the bedroom door open, she called, "C'mon Vernon. We've gotta make dinner for everyone."

"And why do you need me for that?" he said. Vernon looked over at Petunia and saw that she had a stern look on her face. He shrank back. "In that case. I'll be right there."

Just then there was a soft rap at the front door. Mad-Eye opened the front door nodding as Albus Dumbledore entered the room. His robes swirled around him as he came into the room. He went to Remus and started to talk to him. Remus's dark eyes serious and concerned, he asked, "How's Harry?" and Albus made a helpless shrug. He'd spoken to someone who was too busy to be the slightest bit polite or interested in helping.

"The doctors don't say much, Mumble, mumble."

"Mad-Eye. Tonks," Albus said, by way of greeting. Tonks shifted her weight to one hip, looking far more worried.

"Hi," Petunia called from the kitchen. "Any news on Harry?"

Albus shook his head.

"The whole town's about to riot." Albus walked to the window and peered out. "The water's still rising and the fires are moving toward downtown. Wind's carrying the flames." He looked at them. "What've you guys got? Find anything out?"

"We have the three mummies of the Apocalypse." Bill said, peering over the stair railing. He had a towel around his waist and another across his shoulders. Water droplets clung to his red hair. "Or else it's an Earth, Wind, and Fire reunion tour."

"Except we don't think we have any earth thing," Tonks filled in. "Just the other stuff. Air, fire, and water."

"So, no reunion, but we could give rides on a steam locomotive," Charlie added helpfully.

"Three of the four arcane elements." Remus looked at Dumbledore. "Something big is brewing."

"Dumbledore, you have such a way with words," Tonks drawled. "Heard anything about elemental wands?"

"As in, mummies carrying them around," Tonks elaborated. "Trying to curse people with them. Or cause tidal waves with aren't sure who they're for."

Dumbledore frowned at her. "I know who's destined to use them."

"And who is destined to use them?" Remus asked not really needing him to answer, he had an idea who they were destined for. Dumbledore looked at him sadly. "Harry."

"How will Harry be able to use them?" replied Bill. "He's still in the hospital. Hell, he's not even conscious. We've got to figure out a way to help him. There's got to be something. We can't come up short here."

"And yet," Tonks said. "Baffles. Fog. Mummies. Fog."

"There was a little girl just here who saw one of them up close," Mad-Eye continued. "Holly Johnson. And she said it was surrounded by fog."

"The missing girl?" Dumbledore queried.

"I saved her. The mummies seemed to like her a lot. Why her?" Tonks frowned. "What's the draw?"

"Maybe she's got something to do with arcane elements," Mad-Eye suggested. "We're the clay of Adam, some such things."

"Hey excuse me, clay here, too." Charlie nodded. "From the top of my clay head to the tips of my clay feet."

"You said it, not us," Molly zinged tiredly.

"Let me get a look around. I'll check the Alibi, see if I can shake anything out of Willy." said Dumbledore.

Tonks raised her finger. "Tervokian wants control of South London. That's why he tried to take me out." She thought a moment. "I was fighting off some of his goons and they got me cornered in a warehouse. They put something inside the door and lifted the lid before they locked me in."

"The whole thing went up in flames. I thought they set the warehouse on fire. But maybe the fire was inside the box, and when they opened it, it ignited the place."

"Catastrophe in a box. Like takeout. I like it." Bill said, coming down the stairs. He had on his clothes, which Petunia had dried for him.

Tonks continued. "I got out and ran like hell. The warehouse burned up, and I figured that was the end of that. But he followed me all the way to London." She shook her head. "Still using vamps to do his dirty work, too."

"So why bother?" Molly asked. "I mean,if you're here, and he's in Hogsmeade, why track you down?"

Tonks looked taken aback, as if the question hadn't occurred to her. MAybe she was used to demons with a grudge following her all over the country. "Got a point, Molly. The only thing I can think off is I know where Harry is. But if that was the case, why is he only following me?"

She got too her feet. "I'm going to the hospital. I have to see Harry for myself." Then she looked at herself. "But not in Petunia's bathrobe." She flashed a lopsided grin at Remus.

"And I'll go to Willy's." Dumbledore said, heading for the door.

"Remus can come with me. I know you want to see Harry." Tonks announced.

From the kitchen table Remus agreed.

"I'll stay here and help Petunia fix dinner for everyone." Molly said, " and, also, if you hear anything more about Harry, you can call."

Molly leaned forward and put her hand on Tonks's. "I'm so sorry about your parents." she murmured.

She raised from the chair she was sitting in. "Actually, they knew the dangers. I've talked with them many times. Mom was always so concerned for Harry. She wanted him to come to them many times. Just like you Molly."

"Why?" Molly asked, puzzled.

"My parents knew that Harry was the best hope for the wizarding world. They wanted to protect him."

"I understand." She cleared her throat.

Vernon entered the room. "You'll both need coats." He went to his hall closet and opened it. "I've got a nice London Fog and this all-weather jacket." He pulled them out.

"Jacket." Tonks told him. "Remus can look like the James Bond wannabe.

"I beg your pardon," Vernon said. "This is nothing like what James Bond wears.

"Pierce Bronson had that very coat in GQ," Tonks informed him, and Vernon looked pleased. "Yes, I've read a muggle magazine."

Tonks looked at Remus, really looked at him, at the crow's feet along his eyes, the creases in his forehead. There was more gray in his hair now than there had been a year ago.

Does he wonder about his life having meaning? Does he worry about dying?

"Please call if Harry awakens," Petunia said.

"Of course I will." said Tonks.

Petunia's smile was sympathetic and reassuring. "It's documented fact that we never really treated Harry right, but that's going to change. He saved our lives by putting himself in danger. I'll never forget that."

She closed her eyes and nodded, walking them to the door. As she opened it, heavy winds ripped it from his grasp and slammed it back on the hinges, nearly breaking it off. Rain was tumbling into the front yard like a waterfall.

"I think I'll just apparate. Too much rain for me." Tonks said.

Petunia nodded. "I think that the occasion calls for it. Go ahead."

"To Sirius?" she asked Remus.

"Or Atlantis?" Remus said. "Or a really nice, warm room? Oh, wait, we were just in one."

Petunia said, "I'll have tea and hot water bottles ready."

"You're all heart," Tonks replied.

She and Remus turned on the spot and apparated together. They were on their way to see Harry.


	6. Chapter 6 Falling Inside the Black

Chapter 6: Falling Inside the Black

San Diego

It was very stupid of him to have a go again, and he knew it. But the thought, the hope, was like a terribly addictive drug. And Christopher Bothwell could no longer stop himself.

Dressed in a robe of midnight blue spangled with kabalistic symbols, Kit stood in the center of his living room in the Ocean Beach section of San Fiego. His female consort stood at his side also robed. Her magical name was Cecile, and he'd met her at a Wicca singles group three weeks ago. By day, she was temping at a law firm; by night, she danced naked around bonfires on the beach and claimed to be able to speak to the dead.

She had warm,cocoa-colored skin and brilliant red hair, but he suspected that she dyed it because it was the traditional hair color of those imbued with magical abilities. Her affectations concerned him-methinks she doth protest too much-but on the other hand, she had managed a number of spells. Thus far her most notable accomplishment was that she had lit all the candles in the room with the power of her voice alone, for another, she had seen-or claimed to have seen-the ghost of Kit's uncle, who had recently died. Of course, there were innumerable ways to fabricate such a story.

"Abracadabra," she intoned, her eyes closed.

"One," he replied.

They had ingested powerful hypnotic drugs together, herbals that he had ground according to ritual with his mortar and pestle. Simple paraffin candles provided the only sorce of illumination, in a protective circle which he, as the male, was to protect. The female was there to actually perform the rituals. Most magic traditions were matriarchal, a fact he had learned in his magical training.

His tiny, cheap flat reeked of smoke, lavender, and incense. In another neighborhood, perhaps, the neighbors would complain, but Ocean Beach was the last bastion of hippiedom, replete with graying surfers, wrinkled flower children, and wizened, middle-aged folk who worked for nonprofit organizations to protect the rights of animals and legalize various drugs. If they worked at all.

The raggedy drapes were tightly shut against the front window, but they could not drown out the twang of the truly hideous country and western music Kit's neighbor across the common listened to night and day-especially night, all night, every single night wretched night.

On a metal folding card table, herbal tea was steeping in the pot his mother had purchased for him in Cambridge, to celebrate the day he had graduated from the University. The china pot was shaped like a wise old owl, wearing the cap and gown of a scholar. Two mismatched cups were placed beside it. One, he had pilfered from his job at Kinko's, where he managed the special orders desk. Once upon a time , he had owned a splendid coffee service of Royal Doulton bone china; he had sold almost everything of value in his quest to connect with Lily.

If it would have helped to sell his soul, he would have done that as well.

Cecile took his hand. Her hands were small and always warm. "I feel a presence,": she murmured.

He concentrated hard, constricting his face into a grimace as he strained to become receptive to whatever vibration or influence Cecile was sensing. As usual, he felt nothing.

He had begun to wonder if she had ever felt anything during these sessions, or if these sensations of hers were her way of coming onto him. This was their fourth attempt at contacting Lily. Last time, Cecile had mentioned that in her coven, they performed most rituals "skyclad," which was the the pagan term for naked. She'd also suggested that sexual magic was the most potent form of conjuring in existence.

He was not a naive person. He knew that charlatans abounded in the pursuit of the Arts. But he also knew that magic was very real, having devoted his life since the death of Lily to exploring the mystical realms. He himself had been elevated to high priest status in the coven he had recently left, though he'd never mentioned that fact to Cecile. He respected his Wizard's vow of silence, in the same way that he had honored the oath that he had given Lily before her untimely death at the hand of Lord Voldemort that he would never reveal to Cecile that Lily had a son.

Magic had worked for him in the past. Since Lily's death, he had most definitely felt her presence, twice. Once he had been reading, and once sobbing over a silly photograph of the two of them at Hogsmeade. And on each occasion, he had dreamed of her that night. Lovely dreams they'd been. If all he ever managed from his magic was to have another dream of Lily, the efforts and expenditure would be worth it.

I never knew I loved her, until she sacrificed herself to save her son. Oh my Lily...my lovely girl...

"Abracadabra, abracadabra," Cecile chanted.

"Two," he replied.

Then he gasped.

He did feel something.

Cecile squeezed his hand. "Don't open your eyes," she whispered. "Stand perfectly still."

There. Something brushed his lips very gently; it took a conscious act of will not to squint one eye open to see if it was Cecile.

In the kitchen, Mariposa, Kit's little dog, barked sharply. Then the dog growled and scratched the closed door.

"Who is here?" Cecile whispered.

Kit's hearts pounded. Tears welled at the corners of his eyes. It was a a terrible temptation to open his eyes, but he resisted. There were rules, and he followed them, even if they did make it more likely that he was simply being played for a fool by a woman who fancied him.

"Who is here?" she asked again, her voice firm, in command.

Please Lily, Kit thought, I don't want to disturb your rest. I only want to find your son. He is in danger. More danger than even he thinks. I only want to protect him.

Suddenly, the room grew warm and fragrant; the scent of oranges filled the room and he smelled wistfully, remembering Hogsmeade. Hogsmeade was where I came to care for her so very much, I knew that she loved James, but I still felt connected to her. I grew up with her. Next door to her in fact. I still loved her, even when she married James. Oh God, if for one moment I could see her, tell her what a great person she had been; thank her, tell her that I did love her, only never realized it...

"Alors, mon vieux, do you see her?" Cecile whispered. Her voice was filled with excitement.

In the distant landscape of his minds eye, a figure shimmered like an angel.

Lily?

Ministry of Magic Great Russell Street, London

Micaela Riddle dreamed.

In her dreams she sat on the lap of her adoptive father, the handsome old Italian, as they watched the fieldworker harvesting the grapes. She smelled cinnamon in the air, and rosemary, and closed her eyes. The scents of her life were very heavy and thick. The colors of her childhood were Merlot and burgundy, apricot and burnt sienna.

On her tongue, sugared almonds delighted her taste buds and made her eager for the homemade nougats in the monkeypod bowl at her fathers elbow. She reached for them excitedly and-

-opened her eyes to the gray fluorescent light, ereand the gray stone, of her dismal cell inside this hellish prison.

The meeting rooms were on the other floors, true; and many Aurors and operatives passes hours within their walls, discussing the progress of the eternal war against evil. Perhaps they never wondered about the other places they never went; perhaps they knew that those who were found guilty of crimes were housed beneath the first floor, condemned to pass years surrounded by a fog of colorless, lifeless monotony. That was the effect of the dementors. You spent your life reliving the horrors of your life in a fog of bad memories. Many would do anything to end such an existence, and some had managed to kill themselves while in captivity.

There was something Micaela could do to end it. The temptation was there. To be able to look at colors again, and eat food that tasted; to smell flowers; to lie in a real bed and pull the covers up. To drink wine.

To make love-

Sirius, she mouthed, and tears sprang to her eyes. Did he know what had become of her? Did he care? Had he protested, or had he acquiesced to her sentence, believing it to be exactly what she deserved for obeying her father, the dark lord, Voldemort?

She got up from her cot and walked to the bars. Holding onto them, she stared at the gray wall six feet away.

Because of her magical abilities, she had been ordered to fulfill her sentence of ten, long excruciating years in solitary confinement. If that wasn't purgatory, she didn't know what was. She still didn't know why she wasn't in Azkaban like all the other convicted criminals were. Maybe it was because who her father was. Maybe they thought that he would break her out.

Just as she closed her eyes and lay back down on her cot, she heard the familiar footsteps. She clenched her teeth and her fists, fearful and feeling more alone than she had in her entire life.

It was the man who had asked her to call him Neil. She knew full well who he was-Cornelius Fudge, one of the most highly placed members of the Ministry. And if he didn't realize that she knew that, he was a bigger fool than she'd imagined. Stupid men were far more dangerous than cunning ones. With an intelligent man, one could match wits. But stupid men were unpredictable because they didn't think reasonably and logically. Hence, it was more difficult to plan strategy against them.

The aristocrat, a tall, middle-aged man of slight build, with luxuriant gray hair and a trim goatee, was not only a Ministry worker; he was also a traitor. Many other Ministry workers and operatives had come privately to Micaela's cell, hoping to bribe her into goosing their pursuit of private personal gain-wealth, success in business or love, even a promotion within the Ministry hierarchy. Others had threatened her life if she didn't give them what they wanted.

All of them, she had managed to deflect with what amounted to a few parlor tricks, when compared with the powerful magic she had at her disposal. Her father had taught her much that, over time, she had mastered. But with nothing else to do as the days, and weeks, and months dragged by, she had begun to create a great number of things to cause pain, or to make things very difficult for the victim. Perhaps it was the proximity to the Ministry-or perhaps it was the operatives and allies of the Order-or perhaps it was the unceasing sense to danger she felt herself to be in. What ever had caused her to create such magic, Cornelius Fudge had sensed it.

Cornelius Fudge knew that this girl was powerful. SHe had to be. She was Lord Voldemort's daughter. He admired and respected her. She seemed to be as powerful as Harry Potter. Or so he thought. If he couldn't get Potter to side with him, maybe he could get her.

"Signoria Micaela," he said pleasantly as he walked into her view. "How are you? Enjoying the view?"

She glared at him, remaining silent.

He was holding a piece of very old looking parchment. She tried to see what was on it, but it was at a bad angle. Or else her eyesight was beginning to go. With very little to focus on, she found herself seeing double on occasion.

He looked down at the parchment, then turned it around and pressed it with his palm against the bars of her cell. "Does this look familiar?"

It was a drawing of a wand. The wand was more of a scepter. The ram-like horns of a bearded demon curled around the top of the handle, whose shape reminded Micaela of ancient Middle Eastern art.

She shrugged. "It's beautiful, but I've never seen it before."

"There are four of these," he said. "They were made as a set." He smiled provocatively, and her stomach turned. "My colleagues-the ones you refused to help-are searching for one of them. My own finders spell,alas, is not working. If you'll work on recovering it, I will get you out of here."

Her answering smile was as cold as her heart was dead. "do you know how many people have made offers like that? I'll be freed if I help find Sirius Black; or if I'll open the portal to Atlantis; or if I make contact with my father, Lord Voldemort-"

"But you know that I can free you. And I promise you, I shall." Cornelius Fudge had a sense of honor, as despicable as he was. Twisted though it was. She remembered how she had been pampered and loved by Voldemort, one of the most evil beings who ever walked the Earth. He had treated her like a princess.

But he had also tried to kill me.

The lines between good and evil were, at best, a foggy gray.

The Order of the Phoenix were, by nature, a very serious group. Their vows included words such as "Guardians of Eternity," "unceasing vigilance," and "unswerving loyalty." Albus Dumbledore had once said. "Being part of the Order is like guarding the door to your child's nursery while the wild animals roam the halls of your home." Thoughts such as those moved one to seriousness. Laugh, and you might get eaten.

In was, in many ways, a disheartening, thankless task. All personal hopes and ambitions were subordinate to defeating Lord Voldemort and his followers. Marriage was, at best, difficult. Friendships withered. One couldn't hope for a career that demanded too much, and as a result, many members were severely overqualified for their "day jobs," which could be stultifying as well as financially unrewarding.

The sacrifices were bad enough; worse was the realization that one was only a cog in a much larger machine. Members lived, members died, and still the ferocious beast growled and slathered in the passageway. Look away for a moment, and it might spring. Die, and the burden was passed on to someone who could not, dare not blink.

And the one in the middle of all of it was Harry Potter. He couldn't quit, he couldn't run. He was stuck. Faced with such circumstances, the notion of "morale" was set aside. It didn't matter how he felt about his situation. He had a job to do. Whether he liked it or not. He was the chosen one, so there were no allowances. He had no choice. It was him or Voldemort and the Order would do everything they could to make sure he prevailed. Voldemort wouldn't win.

Seriously.

In Madame Bones opinion, the prison in which Micaela Riddle spent her days and nights was positively medieval. Amnesty International would certainly have protested the conditions she was forced to endure, had they been aware of her situation. Her cell was cramped, barely long enough for her canvas cot, and the stone floor was always wet and cold. The stone walls wept moisture. There was no ventilation, and the sole source of light was from a bare bulb hanging in the passageway beyond the heavy metal door.

Madam Bones knew that Albus Dumbledore had spoken on Micaela's behalf, documenting her many acts of selflessness in the battle against her father, Voldemort. She had risked her life to help the Order and her friends protect the chosen one, Harry Potter.

She wondered what they would have done to her if Dumbledore hadn't made his report.

She had no official business with the Ministry prisoner; she had only wanted to speak to the woman because she provided a connection, however tenuous, to Roger. Madman Bones wouldn't let him go, not yet; she had no one to grieve with, and she assumed another woman would understand the depth of her grief.

Now Roger's former lover stood in the passageway, facing the doorway, listening in horror to Cornelius, the former minister, attempting to force Micaela into helping him with some secret plot.

She withdrew into the shadows, holding her breath.

"I find your sense of morality most puzzling," he said, "But I can adapt. Her is further inducement for you. If you don't help me find that wand, I shall kill Sirius Black the moment I step foot in Little Whinging."

"No," Micaela breathed. "Not if it's used against Harry."

"It will be. If he won't side with me then he shall die. It's what he's destined to do. I, however, will live to a ripe old age."

Madam Bones skin felt tight; she was prickling with anxiety. Don't do it, she begged Micaela, Whatever it is, don't betray Harry.

"I Need to prepare," Micaela said, and Madam Bones pitied her weak attempt to buy time.

"No, you don't Do it now, Micaela, or Sirius will die."

Soon green light shone from the cell, and Madam Bones knew Micaela was performing the spell. After a time, Cornelius Fudge said, "Hello, that's most intriguing. So all four of the axes are in London. I wonder why Cecile told me the Tervokian had the other one in Boston..." He broke off. "Right. Hold on, then." There was a moment, then: "Cecile, ma vie, yes, it's Cornelius. Hang on, here's a shock: they're in London. All of them. Yes, I know that's what the Tervokian said, but he must be lying. I just had a finder's spell done and I've no reason to disbelieve the result. Yes, well, you'd better discuss that with him, eh?"

Madam Bones heard the sound of something snapping closed; the cell phone he had been using must have been state of the art, to work at this depth.

"Well, she found that rather shocking, I must say," Cornelius Fudge drawled. "I wonder how shocking she would find it if she realized I know who and what she is, and what she intends to do."

"What are you talking about?" Micaela asked carefully.

"Have you ever heard of Cecile LaFitte? No? How remiss of You Know Who. She is a sorceress of awesome ability. I believe she is over eight hundred years old. She enticed me into working with her in her attempt to empower her God, the Gatherer, so that it can rule this dimension."

Madam Bones listened hard. Micaela said derisively, "Oh, Cornelius, there have been so many attempts to rule this dimension. Even my father failed."

"Cecile will fail, too," he replied, chortling. "You see, she's playing a number of us against ourselves. She's promised each one of us that we will be the Fourth Servant. The Fourth will be the acolyte of the risen Gatherer. Let's see, there's Simon LaFitte, who is her descendant; and the demon Tervokian, who keeps insisting that all he wants is control of South Boston. Then there's Cameron Duvalier, the Third and current Servant, who has no idea she wants to replace him. And then, there's me."

"Ah," Micaela said. "Of course. You."

"I'm the only who realizes what she is up to. I'm going to beat her at her own game. That's why we're going to London. When I rendevouz with her there, I'll kill her."

There was a pause. Keep going, Madam Bones prodded.

"Have you ever heard of the book of fours? No? Well, Roger Zabuto had some fragments of it in his diary. I have no idea how he got them. But they actually tell how to kill 'Ceceli,' as she called herself."

"How?" Micaela asked him.

He chuckled. "You'll see. A promise is a promise, luv, and it's time to leave."

"What?" Micaela asked faintly.

"You're coming with me, of course," he said simply. "How else did you think you'd be leaving here?"

"You bastard," Micaela said. There was the sound of a slap.

Madam Bones inhaled sharply, afraid for her. There was a pause. For one heart-stopping instant she thought Cornelius had heard her. But nothing happened, and she exhaled as slowly and silently as possible. Her heart would surely give her away. It was pounding so hard she was afraid she was going to have a heart attack.

"You're not going to free me," Micaela said slowly. "Ever."

"No. Of course not. But I will make you my queen, Micaela. You'll be happy."

Micaela made some kind of noise. There were rustling noises, and Micaela's muffled groan of protest.

"You're so beautiful," the man breathed. "I can't wait until we're alone in a beautiful setting, where I can make love to you properly."

"Are you positive we're alone now?" she asked him.

"There's no need for you to be afraid, Micaela," he said, sounding bemused.

"Oh, but, Cornelius, there's plenty of need." Micaela's voice was hard and cruel.

Without warning, the hall lit up with a bright green light. A harsh, hot force wrapped around Madam Bones body. There was a muffled shout, and then nothing.

Madam Bones looked around the corner, to find Micaela Riddle bent over the body of Cornelius Fudge. She whirled around. In her hand, she held some fragments of ancient looking paper.

The small blond blinked at Madam Bones. She said quickly, "I know who you are, Ms. Bones. I know you heard. These are the pieces of the Book of Fours. Help me. We have to stop this. We have to save Harry."

"But-"

"We have to get out of here. We have to help. Get me out of here. I have no one else I can trust."

"But the Order-"

Micaela looked hard at the other woman. "Roger Zabuto was tortured to death at the orders of Cornelius Fudge and his co-conspirators. These same people are trying to kill Harry. And perhaps Sirius as well."

Micaela took a breath. "If not for them, then for Roger."

Madam Bones's eyes glistened. "All right," she said. "Come on. There's another way out."


	7. Chapter 7 Never Too Late

Chapter 7: Never Too Late

James Asakawa, president of the London International Relations Society, loved France Tranh more than he would have thought one human being could love another. He couldn't look at her enough, couldn't listen to her voice enough, couldn't be around her enough.

"Will you get away from me psycho?" she screamed at him, as she half walked, half ran to her car.

The Little Whinging Mall was being evacuated. Most of the people James knew from were extremely ticked about being told to leave. But James had lived half his life in Japan, and he knew a hurricane when he was in one. This was not some "hokey little storm," as some of the guys were saying.

"France, I don't have a ride home," he said, loping alongside her. The rain and the wind was fierce, the storm blew them both so hard that they bumped into the cars lined up in the parking spaces. "My car won't start. Triple A says that they don't have anyone who will go out in this storm to tow my car. I can't stay here."

"That's not my problem," she snapped. She whirled around to stare him down. "You scare me. You're always following me around. Always calling my house. My husband is going to call the police if you keep this up."

"I-I love you," he insisted, as the rain smacked him hard enough to leave bruises.

She was holding her hair out of her eyes with both hands. Soaked to the bone, she was thinner than James had realized. So slender. So beautiful. She would blow away in all the wind and rain, just like a tender leaf...

"Then leave me alone."

"Give me a ride," he pleaded. "Look."

The queues for the city buses were as long as the lines for the good rides at Disney land. People were yelling and pushing as two buses pulled up. No one got out, and they were both full. The mall lights were still on but security guards were signaling everyone that the shopping center was closed.

France rolled her eyes. "All right. But if you act weird, I'm throwing you out of the car."

"Thanks." He caught up with her, crossing his arms over his chest and shivering as she unlocked the car with the remote. She gestured for him to go around to the passenger side and he did, realizing he was getting so freaked out he wasn't thinking straight.

Both of them had just slipped inside when the ground began to shake. That was undulated, just like someone flicking a sheet prior to making a bed. The asphalt rolled and then began to crack, as huge, jutting sections of earth shot through, then broke the asphalt apart.

France screamed and turned on the engine. She out the pedal to the metal and threw the car in reverse. There was a thud that JAmes couldn't even think about, and then she slammed it into drive.

She got about two feet before she crashed into another car, the impact throwing her forward, over the steering wheel. James had buckled his seat belt; she had not.

Then the car burst into flames. James shouted, unfastened his seat belt, and got out. The top of France's head had shattered the windshield, but lucky for her, it had not penetrated the thick glass. She was groaning, which was a good sign, because that meant she was still alive.

"I'll get you," he yelled to her, crossing to her side of the car.

He was just about to open her door when a familiar-looking, grubby man shoved him out of the way and yanked open the door. The man grabbed France around the waist and threw her to the ground.

"It's the aliens!" the man shouted. "I seen 'em. I seen 'em all!"

Shortly thereafter, a chain of explosions tore through the mall, and the Robinson's-May shot sky high into the air.

Perfume counter and all.

The man ran crazily off into the night. He pulled something from his pocket and waved it over his head.

"I'm armed!" he shouted. "I'm Carlos New Mexico and I got me a wand! Don't abduct me!"

He ran on, grateful to his bones that sweet little brown-haired girl from the Fish Tank had dropped her weapon when she killed those two aliens.

Through the wind, and the rain, and past the fires, Carlos ran, until he drew near Willy's Alibi Room. Willy was okay with him; sometimes he let Carlos have a pickled egg for free and he'd let him sleep in the basement if he didn't have anywhere else to go.

He was just about to go inside and ask for that pickled egg, when a really tall man grabbed him by the collar and said, "Where did you get that?"

Before Carlos could answer, the man snatched the wand away from him.

"Hey," Carlos protested. But faster than you could say "New Mexico" the really tall man turned into an alien and broke Carlos's neck.

Little Whinging - University Hospital

Good lord, are we having another earthquake? Vernon thought, as every single item in his home rattled and shook. Some of Petunia's feng shui crystals smacked into each other, clanging like wind chimes. Vernon sighed as he watched the crystals, shaking is head. He still didn't understand why she bought those stupid things. They looked ridiculous. He was startled out of his musings when the phone rang shrilly.

Albus Dumbledore was sitting on the couch when the earthquake occurred. Well, that completes our set of the arcane elements, then: earth, air, fire, water. Sighing, he looked up as Vernon Dursley entered the room.

"Sirius just called. Harry is out of surgery. We're heading over there now if you want to come with us."

"I'll stay here for now. Tell Sirius I'll be there as soon as I can."

Vernon nodded his head and left the room. Albus listened as everyone left. He really did want to go see Harry, but he had some things he needed to do to ensure Harry's safety. Sighing, he picked up the phone and hit redial. It was appalling that no one at the Order of the Phoenix headquarters was answering. I could understand if they hadn't been instructed on how to use the phone. He figured that they were still trying to figure out what that loud ringing sound was.

"Ah, yes" someone finally said. "Hello?"

"It's about time you answered. What took you so long? I was beginning to worry." Albus asked indignantly.

"Albus? Oh thank Merlin." said a relieved Kingsley Shacklebolt. "This muggle device is maddening. Is there any news?"

"Yes. Harry is out of surgery. As soon as Madam Pomphrey can check him, we are going to have him moved to Hogwarts. I called to make sure that everything is ready. We need to have all of the protective charms around Hogwarts strengthened."

"Yes Albus. Everything is ready to go, but we're in the midst of a situation here, I'm afraid."

"Situation? What sort of situation?" Albus demanded, frowning.

"Albus, Cornelius Fudge has been killed. He was coming to see you to offer his help in protecting Potter. Although I'm sure he probably had selfish motives. A prisoner escaped; we assume she meant to take him hostage."

Albus was stunned. "What? Cornelius's been killed. This changes everything. Do you know who did it?"

"It was her Albus. Voldemort's daughter."

"Micaela?" he sat down slowly. " This is not good. We need to step up with our plans for protecting Harry. He is in even more danger now. I need you to get Christopher Bothwell's phone number. It's urgent."

"You'll have it within the hour."

Albus put down the phone and tried to concentrate on his reading. Meteorological Magic came to hand, and it was tedious going for the next half-hour or so. He was just about to go see Harry when the phone rang.

"Albus!" said Kingsley Shacklebolt. "I have Christopher Brothwell's home phone number."

"Thank you ever so much," Albus said, exhaling.

He wrote down the number, and stared at it for a moment, suddenly reluctant to dial it. What does one say? How does one commiserate, sympathize? Summoning his backbone, he punched in the number. It rang a number of times.

"Bothwell," slurred a British voice.

"Albus Dumbledore here," Albus said.

There was a moment of silence. "Yes. JHow may I help you?" Christopher Bothwell asked politely.

He's drunk, Albus thought. Well, it is rather late at night...

"We've got a bit of trouble here," Albus said. "And it appears that Lily figures in to it in some way." That didn't sound quite right, but he let it go.

There was another pause. "Lily? How?"

"Her son dreamed of her, for one thing."

"Her son? That's not all that strange."

Albus reddened slightly. "No, it's not. What bothers me is the things taht have happened since he had this dream."

"I see." Another pause. "well, what did he dream? And what has been happening?"

Albus adjusted his glasses. "I'm not sure. exactly," he admitted. "Harry is in the hospital at the moment. We're also concerned about some wands. Now, we all know how Lily was killed and why. What concerns me is the impact these wands will have on Harry as he is the only one who can wield them."

When the next man spoke, his voice was muffled, as if the man was struggling for composure. "You say that Harry dreamed of Lily, or something."

There was another long pause before he spoke again. "I suppose I ought to tell you that I've been using magic to attempt contact with her. And I believe I have succeeded. I think I was in contact with her just a short while ago, in fact."

"I beg your pardon?" Dumbledore was taken aback.

"To a small degree. Look here. I'm in San Diego. You're what? In London. It might be a good idea if I caught the next flight to London."

Dumbledore nodded, then realized that of course the man couldn't see him.

"Yes. That would be good indeed. But we've got rotten weather here. Quite, ah, apocalyptic."

"I'm a sorceror of some small skill," Bothwell announced. " I should be able to maneuver, don't you think?"

"If you say so," Giles ventured.

"But first I, uh, need to..." Bothwell sighed. "I'm pissed. Drunk as a skunk, as the Americans say. I suppose you can tell."

"I am British," Dumbledore teased gently. "We do like our ale."

"Far too well. I'll sober up and be on my way. Expect me by morning, won't you? I'll need some directions. And your address and phone number, of course."

"Why don't you apparate?"

"I don't do well with apparation. I usually end up far from where I intended to go to."

"I can send you a portkey. You should receive it within the hour."

"Good. I should be there very soon then."

"I'll send the portkey right away then. As soon as you arrive, we'll head to the hospital to see Harry. I'm sure you'd like to see him."

"Yes. I would like that. I'll come round' directly," Bothwell said.

They clicked off.

Dumbledore looked at the phone for a moment, then picked up a book.

University Hospital- Little Whinging

The hospital corridor rattled again and Sirius calmly walked under the transom of the nearest door. The quakes had almost become common place now, and everyone was remarking about how glad they were that the hospital, so far, had not sustained any major damage. News of what had happened at the Little Whinging Mall traveled fast.

More wounded poured into the desperately overcrowded hospital. Despite the torrential rains, the fires were spreading all over town. What with the additional burn victims, car accidents, and people injured during the quakes, University Hospital was like a field hospital during a war.

Sirius was getting himself some more coffee, and some tea for Harry's aunt, which was not the most pleasant thing to do. He had to walk down the corridor past the burn unit to the vending machines, and the burn unit was bad news.

Sirius tried to keep his gaze centered straight ahead; there was always that ghoulish temptation to peek into one of the rooms, but he avoided that as best he could. The injuries were horrible; worse still was the amount of pain the burn patients endured.

Fishing in his pants for some change, he paused, just long enough to hear a man talking in the room off to his left.

The man said, "We've got the freakin' thing at the station, Mark. I don't know how it could have cut you, though. It was on the ground."

There was murmuring, and groaning, and Sirius couldn't help nut glance at the name in the room sign. Corvalis, Mark.

The door was open. Despite his best intentions, his gaze ticked to the interior of the room. The opaque white curtain was pulled, concealing the person inside the bed, but Sirius had a good view of the man's visitor, who was seated in a chair at the foot of the hospital bed, his profile to the door. He was a fireman, still in his yellow coveralls, his face covered with soot.

"I'll be back, buddy," he said, and started to walk out. He saw Sirius, and shook his head. He gestured for Sirius to follow him into the hall.

"Not looking good," he told Sirius. "He's more upset about losing his hand than the burns. But the burns are what're gonna kill him."

Sirius took that in. He realized the man assumed Sirius knew Mark Corvalis, but Sirius didn't correct that impression. He just let the man talk.

"Way I figure it, someone stole it from the museum, something like that. Just Mark's luck to fall in the path of whatever destruction that thing was causing. A freak thing, you know?" He ran his hand through his dirty hair. "We're firefighters, we half-expect we'll get burned someday. But falling in the path of some weird light that cut off Mark's hand..." He started crying again.

"What kind os light are you talking about?" Sirius repeated, very puzzled.

"Red light. It came from this satanic looking thing. Very creepy. Looks valuable. We've got it down at the station. Captain wants to see it before we try to find the owner. Maybe give it to the police first."

Sirius nodded. He was not unsympathetic, but he was weary of hearing about accidents. It was all he'd heard about all day. The world had taken on a surrealistic tone for him; he'd been inside the hospital for so long, it was hard to believe there was anything more to the universe than Harry's bed in the intensive care unit, the nurses' station, the bathroom, and the vending machines.

"Tell him I had to go home, will you?" the man continued. He shook his head. "I just can't handle it."

"Sure," Sirius told him.

The man hurried away. Sirius continued on his way and got the drinks, then headed back for the waiting room. Harry's aunt had fallen asleep on the dark brown couch. Her cell phone was cradled in her hand like some people might hold the picture of a loved one. Mr. Dursley had left earlier to check on things at home.

Sirius left Mrs. Dursley alone and looked in on Harry in his room. He was alone for the moment, because his roommate had died about three hours ago. They'd taken the body out, but no one had been brought in to take the extra bed.

They had partially shaved his head. Sirius's features softened as he gazed at him; he thought he looked rather elfin. There was an IV in the vein on the back of his hand and another in the crook of his elbow on his other arm. They said he was going to be okay, probably some back problems later in life, but that was it. Madam Pomphrey could probably fix everything so that wouldn't be a factor.

Sirius put down the cups of hot liquid and pulled up a chair beside his bed. This is the one thing that I couldn't protect you from, he thought. And I don't know how to handle this. But I'd give up more than my hand if I could be in that bed instead of him.

"Hey," Ginny was standing in the doorway, arms folded. She was sopping wet. She gestured to the styrofoam cups and he shrugged; she came in and took the tea and sipped it. "How's he doing?"

He shrugged again. She nodded as if he'd said something profound and smoothed her hair away from her face.

"It's wicked out there." She grinned. "I stepped outside for some fresh air and got drenched in the downpour."

He wondered how she was handling all of this. Harry was her boyfriend and they loved each other very much. She seemed to be doing okay on the outside, but he knew she was building a wall to keep her emotions at bay. He picked up his coffee and drank. Ginny came farther into the room and stared down at Harry.

"His hair will grow back," she said, as if that would comfort Sirius in the least.

"So anyway, I'm out there freezing my butt off and I went around the corner when I heard a noise. I got zipped up, so I went around to investigate the noise. And do you know what I saw when I got there? Two people making out!" she said, holding the tea in both hands.

Sirius thought a moment. "Wand. Some guy down the hall got cursed by a strange-looking wand."

Ginny's eyes widened. "Kidding, right? We're looking for some wands that only Harry can wield. Wow. Where did it happen?"

He shook his head. "The wand is at the fire station."

"Awesome!" she cried. "I'll go tell Dad. He can go get it."

"Hey, tell him to be careful. We don't know if the Death Eaters have heard about this yet," he warned her.

"Careful's for wimps."

"Wimps live to tell the tail."

"Wimps never live. Don't tell Dad that I said that. He'd have a fit." She winked at him and left the room.


End file.
